


The Nightshade Chronicles: North Africa

by ohmwarrior



Series: The Nightshade Chronicles [2]
Category: Strike Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 399,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmwarrior/pseuds/ohmwarrior
Summary: Shortly after defeating the Neuroi Hive, Aaron is transferred to North Africa, a front that has fallen on hard times. Assigned to the 31st JFS Afrika, the warlock finds himself in an alien environment with new and deadlier threats both inside and out. Though given leeway and allies, evil powers know of his presence and plot behind the scenes to unravel not just his friends, but himself as well. What will our hero do when confronted with yet more ghosts from his past who make him an offer he can't refuse?
Series: The Nightshade Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570498
Comments: 13
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of a going away party, the 501st is visited by a messenger with a letter that has great implications for Aaron.

**Legal Disclaimer: This fan fiction was created under the fair use terms dictated within 17 USC Subsection 107 and contains and/or references, be they stated or implied, source materials that are the copyrighted and trademarked properties of their respective creator(s)/owner(s), without their expressed or implied permission. Thus, the narrative that follows is not the sanctioned work of said creator(s)/owner(s) of the copyrighted and trademarked properties and is not meant, either in whole or in part, to substitute and/or replace the existing copyrighted and trademarked properties, nor mislead others into believing, in whole or in part, that this fan fiction was legitimately their work. I, the undersigned author, claim no ownership of these copyrighted and trademarked properties, in whole or in part, regardless of state, now or ever. Furthermore, this fan fiction will not, either now or ever, be used for commercial gain, and only be posted on fan fiction forums that I, and I alone authorize, for criticism only. Regardless of my stated position and intent, I understand fully that at any point and time, I can be legally charged with copyright infringement by the creator(s)/owner(s) of their copyrighted and trademarked properties being used in this way without their expressed or implied permission. If such a situation occurs, I will immediately take down this fan fiction from the forums that have posted my work and/or destroy this fan fiction at their behest.**

**Ohmwarrior**

**Narrative Disclaimer: This fan fiction was written for an audience that has a firm understanding of Strike Witches and its affiliated concepts and characters. Some of the names, places, dates, events, and concepts have been altered to facilitate the flow of the work at large. Any and all criticism, be it positive or negative, is welcome, for while I realize that nothing is perfect and that I cannot please everyone, I can always get better as a writer.**

_The Nightshade Chronicles: North Africa_

_**Chapter I: Cryptic Writings** _

_Change is universally seen as a good thing, but in truth, it’s a mixed blessing. People seem to forget that with every step up the ladder of progress, something or someone gets left behind. Always._

Diary Entry April 21st 1944

The smell of sulfur wafted through the air as the smoke from the lit match curled up and around Perrine’s nose. She paid it no mind and held the flame to the last candle on the last decorative centerpiece on the last set table in the messhall. After a quick second, the wick caught on and Clostermann blew out the last remnants, making sure that she turned her body away from the table while doing so as to prevent any blackened wood to mar the white tablecloth. Looking down, she located the iron bucket shaped wastebasket at her feet and dropped the used match into it. It barely had enough time to rest next to a small army of its likewise used kin before the witch stooped down and picked up the container with her left hand. As she did so, Clostermann took a few moments to think about the past few days and how she and the rest of the squadron adapted to their new living quarters.

  
To be fair, the Folkestone base wasn’t the most inviting of places that Perrine had the honor and pleasure to call home. When the 501st got there after dealing with what the Allies called ‘The Leviathan’, a vast majority of the pilots were dead convinced that they had made a wrong turn somewhere. The fact that they were physically and mentally spent couldn’t change the fact that the main base itself, a simple brick and motor affair, was the size of a farmhouse, the fields surrounding it were overgrown from neglect to where they came up to ones eyes, and the hangar, while of the standard steel spine truss variety, but rusted to where sunlight poured through the roof, looked like it had been there since the Great War. Despite being obviously sold a on a lemon, Commander Wilcke simply shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘Let’s make ourselves at home.’. Perrine grimaced as the memories of house breaking went through her mind. In stark contrast with the exterior, the interior of the main building was practically spotless, fully decorated and provisioned, but every wall was caked with banana yellow wallpaper to ‘theoretically enhance mood’ or so Eila said, though all it enhanced in reality was nausea. Only the messhall was free from that terrible color, thankfully bucking the trend with cherry red paint and the kitchen was separate from the dining hall just like in Dover. While a huge step up from the rest of the structure, there was no getting around the claustrophobic confines. An overabundance of tables and chairs that were placed willy nilly in the dining room created an oaken maze, one that couldn’t be solved by moving them away because there was little in the way of space to move them to. The hallways were essentially one way streets and navigating the stairs required wall hugging if two people had to use it. What passed as rooms were ten by ten squares that reeked of moth balls and had picture frame sized windows the size of a splayed hand. Though they protested vehemently on the rank odor, Minna wouldn’t allow them to sleep with the windows open, but conceded on having the doors open. Few if any got much shut eye the first night and even after a lengthy shower, one could still smell the damned insecticide.

  
Things proceeded to go from bad to worse at breakfast when the commander told them about the fallout from the previous day. Yoshika’s father’s case file was reopened following Maloney’s confession, much to her chagrin. It also triggered a massive investigation of not only the leadership that he had been affiliated with by a special military tribunal, but the entirety of the RAF top brass in Britain and abroad. The whole thing was shocking, but if someone the likes of the former Air Chief Marshall could be involved in not just a murder, but a conspiracy that brought in the likes of the Thirteenth Legion and not have anyone suspect a thing, no one could be exempted. Even Churchill and Eisenhower were put under the legal microscope and scrutinized. The end of the rabbit hole had to be found and closed for good. Many scoffed, thinking that the inquiries would yield nothing substantial, but like dousing a grease fire with water, all it did was create a flaming mess. Numerous officers from both the senior and junior ranks confessed to all manner of crimes from embezzlement to war profiteering. Common rank and file that served under the offenders were cited for not only going along with such offenses, but actively participating in them. Emboldened, the tribunal extended its reach to the state bureaucracy which resulted in a slew of prominent politicians being arraigned on charges of money laundering, tax evasion, and stock manipulation. Every which way you looked, someone was being herded into a paddy wagon. Paranoia gripped every branch of the Allies. Trust between colleagues hit rock bottom overnight and operations requiring cooperation and certainty ground to a halt. 

  
Thankfully, out of all that had occurred, Minna let them all know that Eisenhower did two very important things for them. First, he placed the 501st on a strict gag order, preventing them from talking about what happened at Dover Castle to the press and reassured them that they wouldn’t have to testify in a court or issue any concerning statements. The other boon was that they would be allowed to return to Dover Castle to reclaim their belongings, even if they had to be confiscated as evidence. Going back to where it all began was hard for everyone, for they hadn’t had the time to get it out of their systems. Though cleanup crews had been there for the better part of twenty four hours, shell casings, blood stains, shrapnel, and the occasional piece of glass could be still found hiding in corners or lodged in cored wood paneling. It made the process that much more depressing for those that lost items for good. Perrine didn’t know what her friends had lost since she decided to leave that sore spot alone, but for her end, the telescope she had was utterly destroyed, the bed was broken in half, and a vast majority of her clothes were ripped to shreds. The sight of her belongings treated so shamefully made her cry for a good five minutes. So little of them could be salvaged much less repaired. Miraculously, the sun dress that Aaron gave her escaped unharmed.

  
“Lieutenant?” a voice from across the room called out. Broken out of her trance, Perrine looked to see who it was. Commander Wilcke looked at her questioningly, gesturing with her right hand at the wastebasket she was holding. “Are you going to hog the trash or share it?” her superior asked.

  
“Sorry commander!” Clostermann blurted and rushed away towards the exit on the far left side of the room. Minna watched her subordinate go and sighed in understanding. _She’s not the only one who has their mind focused on other things, especially today of all days._ A few hours ago, Wilcke received a memo from Allied Command, telling her that at 24:00 AM, the 501st would be officially disbanded and its pilots reassigned to other theaters. Given that the threat to England was effectively neutralized, such a thing was to be expected. The destruction of the hive over the English Channel wiped out any resistance in France and opened the door to Germany and Belgium. More importantly, the French Resistance, which had fought against their occupiers for so long, were in desperate need of reinforcement and integration into the Allies proper. The news made her heart soar despite knowing that any offensive operations would not be conducted for months if not years. The distance between herself and her homeland was now the closest it had ever been in a long time. _Soon we’ll take the fight to the enemies heart inside the Fatherland._ We will fight and we will win. She decided that a going away party of sorts would be the proper thing to do considering the circumstances. Though the messhall was easily half the size of the one in Dover, the room was jam packed with tables and chairs. Minna didn’t have a clue what the facility was used for before her squadron got there, but resolved to get the majority of them out, one way or another. The main building didn’t have a basement, so everyone had to lend a hand in moving scores of heavy furniture outside and cover them all in camo tarps. She put Major Sakamoto in charge of arranging the room and procuring candles, table clothes, and centerpieces from the nearby town. While that was going on, she invited Commander Malan and everyone else who survived through an old radio. It took several attempts to get a clear message out, but it was received and eagerly accepted. _As I expected it to be. Sailor never did turn down an open invitation to a party._

  
Just as Perrine left the room proper, another figure emerged, that of the aforementioned major, who immediately saluted. Commander Wilcke returned the salute and Mio walked towards her, looking over the dining hall. “You won’t find any imperfections here Mio,” Minna assured her friend, “the one in charge made sure of that.” And the room was truly as perfect as it could be. The cherry red walls contrasted well with the white table cloths, the bouquets of wild yellow daffodils, and simple black iron candle holders. The tiny flames from the ivory candles created swirling shadows on the low stucco ceiling and brought out the simplistic beauty of the small area. Mio looked around for a second longer, faced Minna, and smiled. As Wilcke looked at her, a feeling of sadness spread within. Though the smile was genuine, it was only a facade that covered up her true mood. Ever since Hijikata’s injury, Sakamoto became noticeably less present and vocal in training exercises, instead passing on the bulk of the teaching regimen to Captains Barkhorn and Yeager. Ever perceptive, the commander let it pass, yet kept a clear eye. The major was no fool however, and constantly played it off as some sort of mental funk when talking to her in public, a depression of sorts that would go away in time. Efforts to get her in a private conversation were futile. It didn’t take long for Minna to realize that having the warrant officer that had served as the major’s loyal aide for so long close by was a vital bond in Mio’s life, a connection between her past and present. Now that it was severed, her friend was adrift, unable to really settle her humors. It had taken a visible toll on her, tiny rings of dark tissue under the eyes, an empty stare once in a while, and a slight sag in her stance that belied the burden Sakamoto was bearing. To allieviate the stress, Minna allowed her to go to visit Hijikata at the hospital in London, an opportunity that the major took every day. “How is he doing?” Wilcke inquired.

  
“His wound has fully healed.” Mio answered, standing that much straighter. “The doctor’s say that the rehab will start by the beginning of next week. Possibly a month or two at most before he’s allowed to leave.”

  
“Any word on him coming back to the unit?” Minna queried.

  
Sakamoto swallowed deep, letting Wilcke realize that a decision had already been made on that issue. “Word’s come in from the Japanese War Ministry. Warrant Officer Hijikata is to be sent back to the homeland and formally discharged upon completion of the rehab.” A silence followed, one that was hard for both of them to keep up. Minna watched as Mio stood there, looking as tough as nails on the outside, yet soft as a goose feather pillow inside, shifting her feet and moving her lips in a way that made it look like she was trying to gulp down extra thick tapioca pudding. 

  
“Mio, I’m-” the commander began, but was cut off harshly by the major.

  
“I’m fine Minna.” Sakamoto interrupted, glaring intensely at her. She blinked away the ill will and looked down with remorse. “Nothing that I can’t deal with on my own. I assure you.”

  
 _Speaking of which…_ “Have you seen Master Sergeant Divale about?” Wilcke asked with concern.

  
Mio shook her head no and her melancholic mind went to work, thinking of where he could be and who would know. Like her, Aaron was definitely a part of the walking wounded, but his absence was more pronounced and worse. It was plainly obvious he was hurting just as much if not more than she was. The first night they spent at Folkestone, Yoshika reported to her that Divale didn’t even sleep in his own room and passed the evening perched on the roof, basking in the light of the moon in deep thought. I’m willing to bet my rank that I knew what he was thinking about. He’s blaming himself for what happened at Dover: Lucretia, Hijikata, everything. _For a man that told some of us to get over the bad things… No, don’t say that Mio. Let him grieve in his own way. That could’ve been you, you know; wracked with guilt._ “I’ll find out immediately.” she announced, politely excusing herself and walking back to the exit from which she entered.

  
Alone again, Minna looked out the messhall window, the only portal to the outside world, and gazed at the sunset as the luminous orb descended below the waterline of the English Channel, painting the skies with oranges, reds, and purples. A beautiful sight, but one that did little to calm her anxiety. The withdrawal of the master sergeant from squadron life was worrisome. In fact, the only times that he involved himself in any meaningful way was when he cooked breakfast for everyone. Signs of his issues weren’t visible on the first day, but every day since then, everyone began to notice. It started with his eyes, those peepers of his that could rival the bowels of a furnace had dimmed to the intensity of a dying fire. He also had redness around them, like he’d been crying for hours on end. When they went back to Dover to pick up their belongings later on, Aaron’s room was a total loss. The furniture was broken into pieces, all his books had their pages ripped out, the easel was snapped in half with the paints smeared all over the bedding and walls, and all the little mementos that he took with him had been burned, even the tube that contained Larissa’s ribbon. His diary escaped the wrath of the Thirteenth Legion, but the damage was done. The rest of the days and nights they saw him, his breath began to stink of alcohol and his appetite plummeted to where Yoshika was convinced that he was losing weight. It scared them all and killed them all, seeing their friend deteriorate in front of their eyes, yet none of them had the guts to confront him about it, the possibility that they could make things worse preventing them from lending a hand. _The self destruction of a man that had literally lost everything. Nothing of his past or future remains, and after tonight, even his present will be taken away from him. A good man that just can’t catch a break._

  
“Commander, this is Aaron. Do you read me?” the warlock’s voice asked from Minna’s communicator. The sudden statement made the German witch jump with shock.

  
“Loud and clear.” Wilcke replied, keeping her voice calm. “Where are you and where have you been? It’s been at least six hours since anyone has seen hide or hair of you.”

  
“Coming up on the base in about five minutes.” Aaron answered. He was about to say something more when a series of hard bumping sounds overtook the radio waves. “Fucking potholes.” he muttered.

  
“You’re driving?” Minna queried. She knew that he didn’t take his motorcycle and the fact that he had acquired another vehicle made her feel uneasy.

  
“Of course,” Divale responded matter of factly, “when you bring guests, you should at least provide transportation."

  
When he said the word guests, the commander’s mind was thrown in a state of confusion. _Who could he possibly be bringing?_ “You’re going to have to leave them at the door master sergeant.” Minna sternly delivered. “This is a private affair.”

  
“When you see who I have in the back seat, you’ll change your mind.” Aaron confidently and audaciously replied.

  
“Don’t push your luck.” Wilcke shot back, her voice going up a notch with a low growl at the end. “You’re in enough hot water as it is.” No reply came from Aaron, prompting her to call out his name several times. Still response. Killing the link, the commander’s mood went from irritated to furious. _Who does he think he is?!_ She picked up the sounds of footsteps and whipped her head around just as Mio came back through the entrance way. Sakamoto immediately halted where she was upon seeing Minna’s face and stood there, momentarily unsure with how to proceed with a superior officer who was in a bad mood.

  
“Is something the matter?” Mio ventured, cocking her head to the side.

  
Wilcke sucked in her teeth and replied, “Aaron’s coming within five minutes and he’s not coming alone.”

  
“Any idea who he’s bringing?” the major pressed, sharing her friend’s disposition.

  
“Haven’t a clue. Get the whole squadron outside near the front door, now.” Minna commanded. Her subordinate didn’t even wait to give a a salute, making an abrupt about face and rocking down the hall to left. Wilcke waited patiently and counted to five as Mio sped away, knowing full well that the corridors didn’t allow much through fare traffic. In time, she too walked out the exit and made a left. Though there was little light shining through the porthole sized windows along the right hand walls, the wallpaper glowed like gold ore in a mine, contrasting sharply with the white siding and the shoddy white stucco ceiling that looked more like a caves worth of brittle stalactites that could come loose at any second. Off on the second floor, she could hear Mio barking orders to assemble. Her boots clunked on the hardwood floor, mimicking her paced heartbeats, yet far slower than the breakneck speed her mind was working on at the moment. _Let’s see. He sounded very confident that he would be excused from adding to the guest list so it’s got to be some august figure and someone he knows. Highly doubt he would bring someone from the Allied leadership given the current situation so that rules out DeWiart and Peterborough. Nor would he aggrandize himself which then eliminates Bishop’s mother. That Murphy fellow is a possibility, but I haven’t heard anything concerning him since the attack. Or maybe he’s doing it the sentimental way, relying less on the connections he has with the guest and more on what the guest means to someone here? Who would he choose then?_ Minna’s thoughts ceased temporarily as she came to the simple oak door, turned the old brass knob, and pushed it open.

  
A rush of near evening spring air came out to greet her, tossing the ends of her hair behind her head or curling them up near her face. The sky above was darkening fast, but it would still be light enough for Wilcke and the rest of the squadron to see. Looking around towards the dirt road that led to the base, the commander had to admit that despite the the poor quality of their living quarters, the surrounding area was quite beautiful. The fields of long grass rolled up and down several hills, creating shadows where the fronds would ripple like water with just a breath of wind. Some groves of trees could be seen in the distance and if one walked around the building, they would see the Channel a good three miles away, glistening like a flat azure jewel. Suddenly, her ears picked up the sound of a motor and her head turned towards the audible putt putt of the engine. It didn’t take long for her eagle eyes to spot a black truck with a wide flat bed and heavily tinted windows making its merry way down the road. _Very interesting choice of transportation you have there master sergeant._ You’d only see something like that driven by gangsters in those Hollywood crime movies. Footsteps on earth behind her told her that Mio had the pilots all assembled and lined up in orderly fashion. Closer and closer the truck rumbled until it came to a complete stop a dozen or so feet away from her, the tires sending small clouds of exhaust riddled dust clouds up into the air. The drivers side door opened and with one sweep of a left leg, Aaron got out of the seat, the suspension rocking a tad as he exited the vehicle. He muttered something along the lines of being cramped as he stood up and arched his back, stretching out his sore muscles.

  
“Give me a quick moment ladies and I’ll explain everything.” Aaron assured as he rubbed his lower back with the tips of his fingers.

  
“You have sixty seconds.” Minna replied, clearly not in the mood for delays. Taking that as the most obvious hint that he’d ever received, the warlock swiftly slid over the hood of the truck feet first to the passenger side and reached into the bed. When he pulled up what he was searching for, no one could see what he held, but Wilcke looked at Mio who silently nodded and flipped up her eyepatch. After the major projected her aura and gazed intently for a few seconds, she turned to the commander and mouthed the word ‘wheelchair’. Minna furrowed her brow in confusion and mouthed back ‘Hijikata’?

  
Then Aaron opened the passenger side door and commented on whoever was inside, “Time to make your grand entrance old friend.” The tinted windows obscured the identity of the mysterious guest as the individual was gently taken from the interior and set down on the wheelchair. With that task done, Divale started to move back around, the creaking of wheels sounding like rusty door hinges. Those sounds were soon dwarfed by the collective gasp of breath from every witch as, sitting in the wheelchair and smiling softly, Warrant Officer Keisuke Hijikata appeared before their eyes.

  
“Hello everyone.” he stated plainly, nodding his head in greeting. “It is good to see you all again.” His words were answered by a round of applause, none more enthusiastic than Major Mio Sakamoto who was fighting back tears of joy, a sight that made shocked Minna, for she knew as well as anyone that that woman never shed a single tear for anyone or anything.

  
Aaron then stepped aside and gestured to the assembled squadron. “What are you waiting for?” he inquired. “Go forth and mingle. You are an honored guest after all.”

  
“Oh yes,” Keisuke agreed, “I am obligated.” In an instant, Mio advanced on the double to be the first, but before she could even get a full stride in, Hijikata raised his right hand bringing his superior’s journey to a halt. “Please don’t come to me Major Sakamoto.” he implored. The words made no sense to Sakamoto, who blinked in disbelief. The wounded warrior then placed both his hands on the rests of the wheelchair and miraculously, pushed himself up to a standing position, a feat that drew awe. “Rather let me come to you.” he continued. If merely standing in front on his peers was incredible enough, the warrant officer then walked the few feet that separated the two, stood at attention, and saluted. “Warrant Officer Keisuke Hijikata, reporting for duty.” he intoned.

  
Mio’s mouth hung open. She couldn’t believe what see was seeing. Instead of returning the salute, as was customary, all the major could manage was, “How?”

  
“The master sergeant saw me the night after the battle and told me that he was going to make everything alright. I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but when he elaborated on what he was going to do, I was really skeptical.” Hijikata explained. “However, he did tell me the story of how he helped one of his men with a broken neck, and that, along with many reassurances and strict lifestyle changes, I agreed to his proposal. He refused my spine. I can walk again just like before.”

  
“The whole thing took the greater part of the week to accomplish, what with the procurement of supplies and making sure that the procedure was cleared by the doctors without anyone else knowing. Which largely explains why I look the way I do.” Aaron piped up politely, shrugging his shoulders. He then turned to Minna and asked, “So is he allowed to stay for the party commander?”

  
All eyes shifted to Wilcke who took a long hard look at Hijikata, then Mio, and finally turned her gaze to Aaron. “Was this the same thing you did for Esau?” Divale nodded in the affirmative. Her brain mulled it over. I’m sure that he briefed him in on the particulars of his situation, that he’s going to have to adjust his duties to avoid suffering the same fate. You luck out master sergeant. “We’d be honored to have you join us warrant officer.” she proclaimed, beaming proudly at the man. Cheers erupted from the throng and all took it as their cue to come up and congratulate their dearest friend. Minna walked around the crowd and made a beeline for Divale, who was leaning against the truck, calm as the other side of the pillow. As soon as she was close enough, the commander started, “As for you-”

  
“I have to get the chair from storage?” he ventured in a deadpan sort of way.

  
The question didn’t catch Minna off guard and she pressed on, “That, and you really have to do a better job of letting us know what you’re doing and where you are. You need to let go of the-”

  
Suddenly, Aaron whipped his head around, gazing intensely down the road. “You hear that?” he asked with a hint of surprised alarm, cutting off the commander.

  
Wilcke refocused and sure enough, something could be heard in the wind, the rhythmic rumble of a car engine, this one not as loud as the truck but more subdued. Like the kind that transport important people. Looking over at Aaron, she could tell that this development unnerved him. Which means that he didn’t know that he was being followed. A second later, the car came into view, a long green country car with a small Union Jack flag attached to the antenna. Though it was far off and the sun has now fully set, Minna could see with her vision that no one was in the vehicle besides the driver, whose features were hidden by the darkness. It came closer and closer and everyone could sense a sort of foreboding in the air, like something bad was going to happen and it made the witches and Hijikata close ranks just behind the commander and the warlock who continued to stare at the incoming car. _Apparently, the driver had either excellent night vision or was courteous for they didn’t flip on the headlights once. Makes me wonder if they know these roads._ The minutest of squeals by the brakes brought the car to a halt and it jerked forwards an inch before it remained still, the engine idling. The door opened within a split second and out popped a short young man in the full uniform of the British Army, a corporal by the shoulder patch with an expressionless face and holding an unmarked packet tied with black string in his right hand.

  
He cleared his throat and asked rather loudly, “Which of you gentlemen is Master Sergeant Aaron Divale?”

  
Aaron went forward one step, eyeballing the man up and down, thinking about how he shadowed him so effectively and what he was doing here. “You have him corporal.” he replied, betraying nothing of his unease.

  
Upon getting the answer that he sought, the corporal briskly walked forwards, making Divale visibly tense up and align his feet into a fighting stance. Oblivious to the change, the man came close within arms reach of the warlock, offered the packet and explained, “I bear an urgent message from the Allied Command sir. Eyes only.”

  
“Fair enough,” Aaron commented, “but who are you and how did you tail me without me noticing?”

  
“Immaterial sir.” the corporal replied. “I must reiterate that this message is urgent. Please take the packet sir.”

  
Divale looked down at the packet, resisting the urge to use his magic to peer into it. _He’s just a messenger. Doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s holding or delivering._ He took the packet from the corporal who immediately saluted, turned around on his heels, and walked back to the car as fast as he trotted over to Aaron in complete silence. The warlock didn’t pay attention to the man anymore and looked at the packet again. _It looks so innocent doesn’t it Aaron? Just a bunch of ink on pages, yet the words within carry more weight than a Tiger tank. Didn’t stay around for too long did he? Probably had orders to vacate as soon as the packet was delivered._ Sounds of the car engine roaring back to life masked the scratching of the string as Aaron’s left hand unwound the string around the metal ring and opened the packet. His gut turned in all directions as the cold realization of knowing that whatever the British messenger had given him, it had to be serious. After Divale reached in with his left hand, pulled out the single paper within, and read the heading, he realized just how serious it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron lands in Alexandria, Egypt in darkness, a shade that matches his thoughts upon meeting three ladies who seem to have different agendas. Unbeknownst to all, the enemy knows of his location and begins to execute their evil plans.

**_ **Chapter II: Wheels Within Wheels** _ **

**_ _ **

_My go between for the arms dealer was drunk as usual, the familiar sourness of red wine on his breath. Couldn’t blame him very much though. If had to sit in a room filled with people who were making money off of their desperate fellows while the world around them was burning, I’d need a little pick me up too. What I can fault him for was his incessant inebriated mumbling. Most of what he said was utter garbage, but one tiny lucid phrase managed to escape his flapping lips, a string of words that I’ll always remember: A sharp smile hides a sharper knife._

Diary Entry March 4th 1941

The night air was crisp, yet very different to the one Aaron had felt went he left Folkestone. Over in England, it had the smell of the spring and the sea, a curious mixture of earth and water. Now, many hundreds of miles away, cruising hard and fast eight miles above land in near pitch darkness due to the cloud cover, he could still smell the salty brine, but warmer like the summer and there was something else in the air, something that reminded him of blood. Knowing that even his senses couldn’t detect vitae from such a height, the warlock’s intuition deduced the scent as sand. _And a lot of it._ At this point, Divale was skimming the underbelly of the cloud line, but far enough away as to prevent breakages as he flew, preventing any would be Neuroi spotting him. 

Again, he placed the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a deep swallow. It hit the back of his throat and would’ve burned like hell, but given that the glass container was three quarters empty, sensing pain in that area was remote. His tongue washed over his teeth and gums, tasting and sloshing every last drop as he looked down at world below. Wisps of cloud shielded terra firma from his gaze for brief moments, but Aaron was able to ascertain the Mediterranean Sea, a body of water that he hadn’t seen in almost three years. _Hello old friend. Fancy meeting you here. Haven’t aged a day you lucky fucker while I’ve gotten so old._ The coastline of what he assumed was Libya was visible, tiny strips of green that topped a massive slightly hilly desert that stretched for miles on end. Behind him, becoming more obscure by the second, was the region of Tunis, the northern part of that area jutting out towards Italy. Recognizing that fact, he whipped his head over to the left and managed to make out a speck of an island, far too small to be Sicily. _Malta._ His mind drifted back to when he met her, the Sentinel after enduring pain and suffering the likes he never experienced from walking upon just over a half dozen steps. Aaron thought about her words, about his life being on knife edge. _I should’ve asked what’s going to happen rather than who am I. Maybe then I would know why the fuck they sent me over here._

The pamphlet that Divale was given contained a single piece of paper that was few in words and much in the way of empty space. What it did say was that it was indeed from the Allied Command, bore the seal of the office of Prime Minister Churchill, and carried his signature and General Eisenhower’s to boot, making the document virtually unassailable in terms of its authenticity and importance. Aaron remembered what it said word for word ** **EYES ONLY. TO MASTER SERGEANT AARON DIVALE OF THE 501**** ** **ST**** ** **JFW. FROM ALLIED COMMAND. URGENT MESSAGE. IN ABSENCE OF ANY TIES TO EXISTING UNITS UPON DISSOLUTION OF ABOVE, YOU ARE HEREBY REASSIGNED TO NORTH AFRICA HQ ALEXANDRIA EGYPT AND ATTACHED TO THE 27**** ** **TH**** ** **JAGDGESCHWADER GRUPPE UNDER COMMAND OF AIR COMMANDER E. NEUMANN EFFECTIVELY IMMEDIATELY UPON RECIEVING THIS NOTICE. DISSEMINATION OF THIS KNOWLEDGE IS PROHIBITED UNLESS AUTHORIZED.**** Though the message clearly stated that he and he alone was to have any knowledge of it, he confided its contents to Minna who drew him aside with Erica and Gertrude behind closed doors. From them, Aaron learned about what he was, unwillingly truth be told, getting himself into. Right off the bat, it was plainly obvious that the trio were extremely puzzled to say the least. From what they knew of that particular theater, that front was considered won less than two months ago. That confirmed Aaron’s deepest suspicions after reading that notice, that a reversal of fortune had taken place and didn’t comment on that in their presence. In terms of his new commanding officer, all three were in total agreement that this Edytha Neumann was very good at what she did, especially in terms of knowing what made her pilots tick and how to use that to motivate them. Little else could be gleaned save for making sure that you hung your shoes up before going to bed and something from Barkhorn who whispered in his ear about ‘looking out for that bitch’. He didn’t stay around for too long after that, despite the rest of the squadron pointing out that the orders didn’t exactly specify when he had to leave. Ignoring them was hard, but Aaron packed his backpack with his diary, his machine gun and shotgun, and a bottle of whiskey, the only things that he had left, dressed up in his khaki uniform, and flew off.

“It was for the best you know.” a female voice cooed from close by. “You know deep down that you’d be doing nothing at that going away party but hanging out on the sidelines by yourself with a full drink in your hands and feeling sorry for yourself.” Divale looked over at the side of the whiskey bottle watching the glass refraction swirl like a maelstrom. Moments later, the sallow face of Ismenoth appeared, her beady black eyes looking like the bottom of the ocean, grinning like a sociopath. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.” she closed.

“You’re probably right.” Aaron admitted, taking little time to think on the cutting remark.

“Of course I’m right.” Ismenoth declared proudly. “No one knows you better.” She paused and added with relish, “Both inside and out.”

“I’m really enjoying this whiskey,” Divale replied, “so please kindly shut the fuck up before your words make me puke. I’d really hate to lose such good alcohol.”

“No drop of booze is better than the likes of me.” the demonness retorted.

“I find it very hard that any part of you can ever be considered good, especially considering your age.” the warlock countered.

“As you said yourself: ‘Never underestimate the wiles of an older woman’. And I’ll have you note that my instincts are just as good if not superior to yours.” Ismenoth pointed out. Aaron glared at her face, all the while keeping one eye out in front of him, trying to get her to go away. The effort was futile as the fiend continued to babble, giving him a little wink as she did so, “Don’t look at me like that. You know what that does to me.”

“Then what should I do?” Aaron asked, cringing internally at the thought of getting his inner demon aroused.

“Acknowledge the fact that I know as well as you know that you’re nervous about this whole thing.” Ismenoth dared.

“I won’t deny that.” Aaron agreed. “I can’t. But I’ve be like this before, back in England, and look at how that turned out.”

“Exceptions only prove the rule.” Ismenoth stated. “You had the experiences on the continent to go by, to give you some sort of reference point. Here,” she explained, gesturing to the land below them before adding, “all that means nothing. It may be the same enemy, but this environment is utterly alien to you. As much as you want to imagine otherwise, Europe is not Africa.”

Divale turned away and took another glance downwards and cocked his eyebrows in puzzlement. Far away on the surface of the earth, lights could be seen shining in the darkness, scattered like gold glitter from an old Christmas ornament. _Now this is very strange. If what I suspect is actually true of what the situation is here, how in the world are there still survivors? They should be underground so that the Neuroi wouldn’t be able to find them, but they’re on the surface burning fires. What in the hell is going on here?_ He looked further on, seeing more pinpricks of illumination. On the far edge of his enhanced vision, a vast swath of midnight reigned, furthering his curiosity. _That would logically be the demarcation line between armies, a no mans land where strict lights out protocol would be enforced. Maybe this is a case of split lines or commands? So many questions._ His body tensed up and he concentrated on positioning near the clouds, for he knew that he was getting close to possibly getting into enemy lines. Aaron reached into his front right pants pocket, pulled out a cork, and stoppered the bottle. “I’m going to need your eyes here.” he commanded, stowing the container back into his backpack. “See if you can navigate a path through that mess.”

“I’ll do that and see if I can boost your communicator range.” Ismenoth responded. “It may get you what you want or maybe not, but something beats nothing.” Divale then fished for his machine gun while wincing as the communicator crackled and popped unnaturally as the demonness used her foul magic on the device. Instead of the usual static that sounded much like dropping marbles on tile, this was infused with a low gurgling that could be passed off as throat singing or gargling. Though he heard it many times before, especially after Abbeville, it still made his skin crawl. Finding the body of the weapon, Aaron pulled it out and racked the bolt. Again, he gauged his relative position. Judging from the lack of activity on the surface, the warlock deduced that he was a good halfway through the demarcation line.

“Imago calor.” he intoned. As the magic took hold, Ismenoth’s efforts bore fruit as a group of excited voices could be deciphered. Most of it was intelligible, but Aaron could pick out the words ‘tracking’, ‘verification’, and ‘ready’. He also noticed that there was an echo to the phrases as if they were being uttered within a cave. That told him two very important things, one good and the other not so much. _First, those words clearly mean that they have located a foreign interloper in their airspace which also implies that they have to have a radar station nearby. And secondly, that echoing sounds familiar, like being in a hanger. Obviously, a hanger is best suited near the lines, but outside the range of long guns and has some of the best communication equipment around to receive urgent messages. Given that, the maximum distance should be around there._ Sure enough, Divale’s instincts paid off. Off in the distance, his altered sight could make out human sized blobs of reds and oranges clumped together or arranged every fifteen or so paces. A ways beyond that were thousands upon thousands of heat signatures moving or standing still in a variety of places and positions. One particular area caught his eye. While the rest of he world was very much devoid of warmth, a massive block of vivid color could be identified. _Bingo. That stuff is a fantastic boon, but the electrical loads generate heat. Lots of_ c _lassic lookout perimeter assignments and gun crews, AA most likely. Need to go dark lest they triangulate my position._ “Obscurum.” he whispered.

Free from physical sight, Aaron flapped his wings hard and dove just behind a group of lookouts close enough to hear a distinctly German accented voice say in a muted tone, “Ich wiederhole, keine Augen auf das Ziel-HQ (I repeat, no eyes on the target HQ).” Aaron tucked his wings and landed on his feet softly. Wasting no time, he scampered towards a large rock and placed his back firmly against it. Quickly, his eyes darted back and forth, checking to make sure that no one heard anything. Nothing seemed amiss and Divale took a glance over the right edge of the rock. Patrols were out and about, going about their rounds in planned circuits. Thinking on the matter, the warlock had a sinking feeling. _Granted I’m shrouded, but even if I wasn’t, I could still probably sneak my way in here. Why is something so integral as base security so nonexistent? Makes no fucking sense._ Shouldering his machine gun, Aaron stood up and walked calmly away, subconsciously keeping to the shadows out of old habit, making sure his footprints were hidden. Remembering where he saw what he presumed to be the hanger, Divale proceeded to navigate the winding streets of Alexandria.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. Beyond the obvious iron like tinge of sand, there was smoke mixed with meat, vegetables, and body odor, the things that all army encampments one should experience, but laced with strange spices that Aaron had never whiffed before. _Jonathan would be excited if he were around._ Hushed voices speaking, or in some cases singing, in English, German, and other dialects that he couldn’t identify could be heard coming from behind thick shuttered windows or heavily draped door ways. As he rounded a corner he saw a curious architectural wonder. The backs of all the buildings had a back entrance that wasn’t covered in thick dark cloth at the threshold, but was angled going the opposite direction and back the other way several times, like a poorly drawn maze layout. _I remember those from Russia. Those are wind breaks. Not only do they prevent whatever the gusts may bring from blowing out fires or chilling your bones, but it naturally dim the light from within due to the angles so that one could dwell inside in relative safety. Ingenious._ Soaking in the quirks of the place soon grew dull and Aaron picked up the pace, bypassing the fence of a small farm. A few bleats of a sheep rung out, the senses of the animal knowing that someone or something was out there, triggering two to three more of its species to call out in near unison. Then, he eyes rested upon what he was searching for.

Around fifty feet away was the hangar, though if one looked upon it from above, it wouldn’t look like one at all. The top was camouflaged with a tightly drawn tarp that painted or stained to look exactly like the tops of the local dwellings that surrounded it for miles. Now at ground level, the disguise was broken, revealing the characteristic aluminum siding. Apparently, he was approaching it from the back, for again he spied the light break feature. Long electric cables snaking through the sand like serpents or the roots of a ancient tree came from several nearby buildings and disappeared underneath the hangar proper, gently humming as the generators supplied power. _Time to go introduce myself._ After putting his machine back in the backpack,running his right hand through his hair, adjusting his glasses, and cocking his head from side to side to ready himself, Aaron put his best foot forwards and strolled to the wind break, moving in a looping curve so as to see if anyone was about to come out. He saw nothing and went in. The moment he entered the winding way inside the hangar, he could hear voices, frantic ones asking for confirmation and to continue the search for the anomaly they had picked up. Quickly, he ran through the knowns. _Judging by the number of voices, I’d say around seven or eight personnel, probably the surveillance operators. No female voices and thus no witches. Curious._ Further and further he ventured until he came to the last corner and slowly nudged around to have a look.

What greeted his eyes shocked him. Huge blocky radar machines rested on wide double length reinforced steel tables along the entire far wall, the screens obscured by seven men and one woman operating them from chairs, at least three to a table with headphones on. What wall space that wasn’t occupied contained chalk boards and cork boards on rollers with drawings and pinned up photographs. In the right corner was a simple burner that was heating up a covered black iron pot that sat on frame made of dull barbed wire. Activity was rampant and excitement was everywhere except within Divale’s mind. _This isn’t a hangar at all!_ Despite realizing his error, Aaron was determined to at the very least get directions. Taking a deep breath, he walked past the threshold, waltzed into the exact center of the room, ended the spell, and nonchalantly stated aloud, “Well hello there.”

The effect was immediate. Within a split second of him speaking, every head in the room, with the woman’s the sole exception, whipped around with astonished eyes and open mouths. A heartbeat passed before they got out of their seats, drew their sidearms, and pointed them at the warlock, the chorus of hammers being cocked back sounding like a casino dealer bridge shuffling a deck of cards. Aaron was unfazed for he knew that the calibers of the pistols they were holding would do next to nothing if they opened fire. Suddenly, the seated woman held up her right hand and commanded, “Stand down gentlemen.” The staff turned their heads a tad to acknowledge the order and slowly lowered their weapons. As for the speaker, she merely took off the headphones, placing them gently on top of the machine she was in front of, stood up from the chair, and turned to regard the warlock. She was around 5’6” with hair the same color as Shirley’s, but the eyes were several shades darker, almost a cerulean blue. Ultra thin wire frame glasses sat securely on her face, one that had the complexion of someone who spent time outside, much like Lucchini and himself. The collar of her sand tan uniform had Oberst studs, similar to Minna’s, but whereas his former commander had hers in silver, these were in gold. An undershirt and a small skirt a hair lighter than the uniform itself completed her top and a pair of likewise colored socks and combat boots fleshed out the bottom. As Divale looked at her, he wondered briefly that if he didn’t have such good vision, he’d have to be virtually next to her in order to see her in the desert. “This is our newest recruit.” she proclaimed.

Aaron let the import of her statement to dawn on the men before replying with a courteous salute, “Master Sergeant Aaron Divale, formerly of the 501st JFS, reporting for duty.”

Instead of addressing in kind, the witch pulled back the right sleeve of her arm and looked at a watch. “When did you receive your summons?” she inquired after finding the time.

“Barely after sundown.” Aaron answered. “In England at least.”

“You certainly didn’t waste any time. That is good.” she commended. “I’m your commanding officer, Air Commander Edytha Neumann of the 27th Jagdgeschwader Gruppe.” She took a brief look at the still very anxious radar operators and added, “You may all stand down. Resume your duties gentlemen.”

Pistols were soon holstered and all reluctantly sat back down, donning their headphones once again, except for one who brazenly said, “Air Commander, with great respect, I feel that this man is untrustworthy and should be watched.” He then gestured to the backpack that Aaron had and continued, “He could be carrying anything in that bag. It should be thoroughly checked.”

Neumann thought about the man’s reasoning and nodded. “Before you do,” she began, gazing intently at the pack, “what is exactly in there master sergeant?”

“My diary, my guns, and ammunition.” Aaron replied, intentionally leaving out the bottle of whiskey.

Edytha stared at him and squinted her eyes, as if peering into his soul, looking for any hint of deceit. “He speaks the truth private. Resume your duties.” she deduced matter of factly.

However, the man refused to back down. “How could you be so su-” he started to say before an angry look from Neumann silenced him for good.

“If he wished to do anything untoward to any of us in this room, he would’ve done it already.” she rebuked, raising her voice an octave for emphasis. “Now, I command you to resume your duties private.”

Knowing that there was nothing he could do to impress his misgivings upon his superior officer, the enlisted man meekly sat back down and copied his fellows. With that matter settled, the flash of ire faded away and the air commander ordered, “Come with me master sergeant. There is much we need to discuss.” Aaron rolled his shoulders and stood aside as his new CO walked past him out the back. Once Neumann rounded the sharp corner, he followed behind her, maintaining a respectful distance. They soon passed the threshold and moved northwards towards a small sandstone hovel of sorts that was dwarfed in size by the buildings around it. _Making it look like an unimportant target and_ _using the other structures to prevent being seen. Clever._ He heard her sigh and off handedly comment, “Feels good to get out of there. That place can be very stress inducing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Divale chimed in.

Edytha took a glance over her right shoulder and countered, “But you do know a thing or two about being in such environments. Your file says it all.” The warlock went quiet and the pair came up to the simple wood plank door, lines of golden light shining through the cracks, again located at the rear. There was no knob, but the witch simple went up to the portal, grabbed the door by the sides, and with a simple lifting of the arms, pulled the door up and moved it off to the left side. She gestured with her head towards the entrance and Aaron wasted no time in entering. He made a move to take the door from here, but Neumann shook her head. Once he was inside, Divale regarded the interior of what he assumed was the air commander’s office. At first glance, it reminded him of the room he had in Dover Castle with the rough stone walls and a wood plank floor. However, there were windows, shuttered and draped heavily with sack cloth. Very little adorned the room overall. On the far wall, facing the stone was a metal desk and chair with a trio of small candles, about half used, ensconced within a brass plated candelabra. A waist high file cabinet was off to the left side and a wicker basket for waste was towards the right. The right hand wall had another one of those moveable chalkboards, yet this one rested on a horizontal fulcrum so that one could flip it around. As for the left side, it was bare save for a small framed picture. He stared at it while hearing Edytha coming in the room and saw the air commander smiling next to three generals. Going off of uniform design and color, as the names couldn’t be read, Aaron could tell that one was American, the other British, and the last was Italian. On the very bottom was written ‘The Quintessentials’ in elaborate cursive

“Old friends?” Aaron inquired, turning around and pointing with his right arm at the picture while Neumann placed the door back into place.

With a tiny huff, she placed the door down and wiped her hands on the walls to get the sand off. “Acquaintances to be honest.” Neumann answered, turning around. She walked right next to him and stared at the picture. Out of the corner of his eye, Divale saw her blink and slowly scan over every detail. _She’s reminiscing._ “The ones to my left are General Montgomery of the British Eight Army and General Stumme of Panzer Army Africa, and the two to my right are General Patton of the US II Corps and General Tellera of the Italian Tenth Army.” she explained, pointing to each on in turn with her left hand. Edytha paused before adding with much sadness in her voice, “I miss them all so very much.”

“What happened to them, if you don’t mind me asking?” Aaron pondered out loud.

“Monty, as we liked to call him, is currently incommunicado. Last anyone saw him, he was taking his men south to Sudan. Patton is bobbing like a cork in the Atlantic along with the rest of the US Eight Fleet and as for Tellera and Stumme, the former got killed in a delaying action near Benghazi a few weeks ago and the latter died almost two months earlier from an apparent heart attack.” Neumann illuminated.

“I’m sorry.” the warlock deadpanned, piecing together the ramifications of such a culling from the high ranks.

“It wasn’t your fault.” the air commander retorted, her voice raising a little out of annoyance. Aaron looked at her and saw that she was staring right at him. Knowing he overstepped, he nodded and took two steps backwards, giving her space. Gradually, Edytha’s face softened and said, “In truth, I don’t think it was anyone’s fault. As the American’s say, ‘They caught us with our pants down’.” She then walked over to the chalkboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and started drawing a long jagged line. At first, the demonstration made no sense, but with every curve and slant, a concrete pattern emerged until Aaron understood it to be a rough sketch of the entire North African coastline. When she finished that, Neumann then made a dotted line, cutting of the northern tip of Tunis from the rest of the continent. Facing him, she hit that area with the tip of the chalk, filling the air with a sharp tack sound. “This right here represents the high water mark of our advance two months ago.” Edytha stated. “What you’ve entered into today is now the front line.” Aaron processed this information and kept calm, at least on the outside. Inside however, he was going nuts and that was a stretch in and of itself. _That’s at least 1600 miles! How the fuck did they lose that much ground in less than two months with five whole armies!?_ As if she could gauge what he was thinking, the witch pressed her glasses towards her face with a left index finger and conceded, “Right now, you’re thinking to yourself, ‘How did all of this go bad so fast?’ aren’t you?” Divale nodded a quarter of a degree and she continued, “The enemy hit us in a direction that we never anticipated from a sector that we thought was impossible.”

“The Neuroi have nests in the interior of Africa?” Aaron conjectured.

“Good guess,” Edytha congratulated, “but still very wrong. Instead of encircling them, they in fact encircled us from within.”

Aaron cocked his head to one side and blinked. “I’m not quite sure that I follow commander.” he admitted.

Neumann then walked away from the chalkboard and to the file cabinet. With her right thumb, she slid the front latch open, eliciting a greased metallic grind. When it opened just a crack, she reached in with her left hand and plucked out a single piece of paper that Aaron could tell just from the glossiness that it was a photograph. After taking a meaningful glance at the front of her desk, indicating that he should move to that location, the air commander leveled her eyes at Divale and slowly explained, “Out of all the reasons I used to convince Allied Command to transfer you here, this was at the top of the list.” Then, with a dramatic slap down of the photo onto the desk, like a lawyer violently objecting in a court of law, Aaron could see the picture and his heart nearly stopped in shock. In black and white was what looked like the aftermath of a thoracic biopsy. That particular subject was something that he knew and saw many times in hospitals and on the battlefield, but one detail unnerved him to his core. Inside the fully exposed chest cavity, instead of a heart, there was the unmistakable shiny angled sides of a Neuroi core about the size of his fist right where the proper organ should be. “Besides a token few, you have the most experience in dealing with the enemy. Have you seen anything like this before in Europe?” Edytha asked.

“Never.” Aaron murmured, eyes wide like saucers. “The only times I’ve seen anything remotely like this was in France when people got possessed by polluted magic, but this is beyond my understanding.” He looked up at her and hastily added, “This should not be possible at all. As far as I’m aware, the Neuroi can only animate and control inorganic substances like destroyed tanks and ships. Anything organic repels the aetheric energies that they rely on to do that.”

“Which was exactly what OSS told us when we showed them this.” Neumann agreed. “However, this evidence throws all of that into doubt.”

Aaron absentmindedly nodded, his vision glued to the photo, to the core. It was then, in those moments of intense focus that his medical knowledge came into the fore. “Disturbing.” he whispered.

The witch picked up on the tone and pressed, “What is it?! What do you see?!”

Divale then pointed his right index finger at the furthest sides of the original cut of the biopsy and moved it slightly up and down along the edge. “Look here.” he instructed. “That long patch of skin. It’s a different texture.”

“You certain?” Edytha anxious inquired, relieved to finally have a concrete theory at long last.

“Positive.” Aaron replied. “Normal skin textures look interwoven like a basket, but here, there is a single definitive direction. Tell tale signs of scarring.”

“But the doctors didn’t mention evidence of that in their post operation reports.” Neumann recollected.

“They wouldn’t have.” Aaron illuminated grimly. “All the scarring is on the inside.”

“How is that even possible?” Edytha conjectured, placing her right hand on top of her head.

Aaron breathed in deep and closed his eyes, readying himself for his take on what was going on. He took his attention away from the photo and redirected it to his superior and responded, “When I was created, physical and magical methods went into my construction that involved bizarre tools that could be inserted without breaking the skin. Such a thing would leave no exterior markings, but it would most certainly do so internally.”

Neumann looked away for a split second to process the information and ventured, “Which then means that the Neuroi aren’t the ones doing this to people and that those individuals have access to those means.”

“I concur.” Aaron assured. “Some whack jobs masquerading as human beings are implanting Neuroi cores into unwilling subjects.” He then conjectured, “So I take it that was how they managed to undermine this whole front?”

The air commander nodded. “It happened out of the blue. Started as a normal day like any other and then, all of a sudden, comrades and friends that had been through thick and thin just turned on each other, shooting them in the back in cold blood. Thousands died like that. Many more were poisoned through tainted rations or water. Communications got severed, equipment and vehicles were sabotaged or stolen outright. And this happened not just at the front but everywhere. Locations we once thought safe went rouge and fell into enemy hands within minutes. As we were attempting to figure out what the actual hell was going on, the Neuroi launched their assault and threw us back in disarray. We had no choice but to retreat, fighting like cornered beasts all the way. For two months we were funneled along 1600 miles worth of killzones. Very few remain from the original number and-” she elaborated, pausing at the end as her emotions swelled up within her. “But that wasn’t the worst of it. Throughout those two months, we started to notice certain patterns.”

“What kind of patterns?” Aaron asked.

“The casualty ratios were heavily skewed.” Neumann stated. “They were almost exclusively on the side of the enlisted rank and file. Us witches were largely left alone, yet the number of missing was sky high. Then enemy units started showing up, looking a lot like my former pilots, incapacitating and capturing what was left.” That revelation pushed Aaron’s panic button and he instantly open hearing that whipped his head this way and that to make sure that no one was around spying on them. “It’s alright now.” she added, trying to calm down the warlock. “We found a way to sniff them out.” Edytha then reached into her front left pocket and pulled out a small tin ankh. “These have been infused with life sense magic. You press these against your eyes for three seconds and you will be able to see the veins and arteries in the neck. Those vessels will pulsate if that person has a functioning heart. Since these infiltrators have no heart, theirs won’t. Knowing you, you already have the means to deduce that already.”

“Can they be duped?” Aaron hastily asked, not fully convinced of the device’s efficacy. “Can they generate false positives or be faked?”

“No.” the air commanded replied emphatically. “Each one has it’s own aura that we keep a log of. If one gets tampered with, we’ll know immediately because the aetheric frequency will change. Absolutely tamper proof.”

Aaron relaxed a tad and inquired, “So knowing all this, just how many are we currently facing down?”

“At the very least,” Neumann declared, “three complete armies numbering around 400,000 and 275 squadrons comprising everything from interceptors to CAS all arranged on a front fifteen miles wide."

The warlock ran the numbers in his head. _So that would mean that for every mile of front, there’s over 20,000 men and roughly 350 witch pilots stationed there. This is starting to look and feel like Varna all over again._ “And how many do we have?” he ventured.

“Around a quarter of that number in each category.” Neumann relayed without humor. “However, we do have a strong position and have been receiving very steady supplies and reinforcements from Japan and India thanks to the Suez as well as teams of combat engineers. The teams copied much from the old Siegfried Line in Germany and have built as close to a replica as they could. We call it The Devil’s Garden.”

“Static defense lines can be flanked easily.” Aaron pointed out. “I’ve seen it happen with the Maginot in France.”

“We are aware of that,” Edytha admitted. “and due to the shortage of personnel, we’ve only be able to garrison our southernmost left with a token force. So far, a tactic that we’ve borrowed from the Americans, using hollow constructs of painted sheet metal and plywood to make it look like that a bigger force is stationed there, seems to have worked.”

“Until they decide to call your bluff.” Aaron retorted civilly. He let that statement hang in the air for a second before sighing and running his right hand through his hair. “It would be better if we had the British here.”

“Or even the Americans.” Neumann agreed.

“What ever happened to Patton and his II Corps?” Divale inquired.

“He got cut off from the main force and had to get evacuated out by the US Eighth Fleet at Casablanca.” the air commander answered. “Since then, he’s been determined to get back into the fight, but has been running into trouble as the Neuroi have a virtual stranglehold on the Straits of Gibraltar. Any attempt to force a crossing through that point would be tantamount to suicide.”

Aaron backed up from the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the floor, shaking his head. _This is so F.U.B.A.R that the term loses all meaning._ Neumann walked out from behind the desk and stood in front of him, looking into his eyes, waiting for him to say what was on his mind. “I may be a warlock, but I can’t fight a war for you.” he solemnly declared.

“Yet you will fight,” Edytha countered, “and you will not fight alone. As of now, you’ll be attached to the 31st JFS Afrika. They’re the best pilots I have left and are my go tos when I need to get a job done. You’ll fit right in.” Divale nodded in understanding and was about to ask where he would go about in finding his new squadron when suddenly the air commanded crooked her right index finger at him, a sign that she wanted him to come closer. The warlock leaned forward and Neumann whispered into his ear, “The other main reason that I sent for you is that I need you there to make sure that the squadron commander is watched and given guidance.”

“You suspect her of something?” Aaron queried.

“When you meet her, you’ll figure out why.” the witch said.

************

Aaron stood in front of the main headquarters of the 31st JFS Afrika and prepared himself for his encounter with the squadron commander. Ever since his meeting with Air Commander Neumann, his mood darkened to the color of midnight, the specter of doubt overtaking any and all positives that one could theoretically drudge up. _This is a fucking mess. I knew it from the moment I came here and now that I’ve arrived there’s no way out except through it. Then again, it’s not as bad as some things I’ve been involved with. Being outnumbered and outgunned is a fact of life for me. Still, over there the enemy was one that I knew and could react to. Given that I’m now facing not just the Neuroi, but their human allies, it opens up new doors that could lead to success or failure.Speaking of which…_ His spectacled eyes fell upon the portal leading into the site proper and analyzed the door for the second time. Unlike the one that he saw at Edytha’s office, this one was a full fledged door, frame made of solid steel and double thick, almost like a bank vault. It was flush with the foundation, letting no light shine through. Divale speculated that such a door would be heavy and would require at least an extra hinge. One detail made him curious. He had cased the place before standing to at the threshold, one that looked remarkable similar to the joint that Neumann resided, and noticed that there were no windows.

Though strange, Aaron shrugged his shoulders and decided that there was no better time than the present to get on with things, so he raised his right arm, made a fist, and rapped his quarter sized knuckles against the door several times. “For the last time,” a female voice shouted from within in an exasperated tone, “all personal sessions ended at 16:00! Get off the stoop or I will get the MP’s!”

“I’ve been sent here by the air commander herself.” Divale retorted politely. “Now you get off your stoop or I will get the MP’s.” An angry huff was picked up by the warlock’s ears, followed quickly by a half dozen stomping steps before the door was flung open, flooding his vision with bright light. His eyes adjusted quickly and he caught the visage of a short witch, roughly 5’2” if one excluded the sand colored infantry hat on head which comically covered very little of her light strawberry blond hair that stopped just above the tips of her shoulders, practically flying out in order to give him a piece of her mind. She was dressed very much like Edytha in regards to the socks and combat boots, yet the uniform top was lighter than the bottom and had more pockets in the front. Aaron could tell from the collar studs that she was a pilot officer, and, going off her reaction to him, none too pleased with him invoking a higher authority.

“You have some fucking nerve to-” the witch continued to rail until she collided with Aaron’s muscled chest head first in her rush to get out the door. It sent her back a step and she cradled her fairly tanned nose in apparent pain for a brief moment before her blue eyes saw what she ran into. Slowly, she looked up the fourteen inches past his sternum, over his chin, and into his spectacled eyes. Her jaw dropped at the sheer sight, but she shook her head violently and composed herself. After clearing her throat, she demanded, “So why would Neumann send you here? Auxiliary personnel are stationed down the way.”

Divale answered her by removing his glasses, letting their light illuminate the pilot officer’s understanding. “I’ll give you two good guesses.” she commented with a wink of his right eye. The witch stepped back several more steps out of fear and awe.

“Whoever it is Rai,” another female voice called out from within the hovel, “have them spit it out or get out. I’m not in the mood to get chilled tonight.”

“On it.” Rai called out from over her shoulder. She turned her attention back to Aaron and she muttered in a low voice,”You can come in, but if you do anything I don’t like, you’re out. Understand?” The warlock nodded slightly and waited for his greeter to move off to the side to allow him room to pass. When that was done, he took two steps forward and crossed into the 31st JFS headquarters. From the moment he entered, Divale soon realized that this place was not like any headquarters that he’d ever been in. Most would have some sort of operations area where on would receive intelligence and important briefings on future sorties. While it did have that in the right hand corner of the room, right next to a pair of Strikers that rested comfortably upright in the sand, it was dwarfed by the exorbitant amount of newsreel paraphernalia that lined the walls, sat on shelves, rested on a short file cabinet, or dotted the wooden desk. Aaron could see newspaper clippings of pictures and editorials tacked to the walls, framed documents of merit with medals looped around them at the bottom or magazines flipped to a certain page, and ribbons and combat badges that were hung like streamers from the low ceiling so thick in parts that another few or so would create a veritable curtain of the stuff. The whole place was lit up by a quartet of lanterns each placed in the four corners of the room.

The sound of a match being struck made him instantly focus ahead where he saw, sitting at the desk in a leather padded chair, another woman, this one 5’7” and having the same hair and eye color as her counterpart, though hers was considerably longer, cascading down her back in a blond waterfall. However, in terms of dress, she wore a black leather flight coat with the silver bars of a lieutenant on the collar over her uniform, one that Divale suspected was likewise dyed to look like the desert environment. In her right hand was the lit match and her left was busying with the diffuser valve of an ornate shiny brass waterpipe, about two feet tall and etched with eagles taking flight. Aaron watched her ignite the coals in the bowl at the head of water pipe and close the wind guard with a tinny click. After blowing out the remains of the match and letting it sit like a burnt insect on her desk, the witch picked up the metal mouthpiece, one in the likeness of a spiraled tube with a tapered end like a narwhal tusk or unicorn horn. She put her lips to the tip and inhaled. The burning of the coals and bubbling of the water within the main chamber created two sounds that reminded Aaron of the water from the Pripet Marshes after being struck by Neuroi beams. Soon, the smell of the tobacco, laced with molasses, apple, and a hint of lemon filled the air when she finally exhaled, the smoke billowing out her nose like a dragon and gathering around her head like a halo of London fog. She leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking gently, with a smile of satisfaction on her face. It was only then, that she finally regarded him, staring right at his eyes, gauging his worth. “You smoke?” she inquired, her gaze unwavering.

“On occasion.” Aaron admitted. In silence, the lieutenant offered and the warlock took a quick gander at her subordinate who had taken up residence in the lower left corner, eyeing him with suspicion after closing the door. The pilot officer nodded a fraction of a degree, but held up her right hand, the tell tale sign to wait. The tiny witch briskly walked around the desk, the hanging mementos not even touching the lint of her cap, and stood to the right of the squadron leader. A second passed and Divale advanced slowly, gently parting the veil of memories hanging from above with his left hand. When he got close enough, he reached out with his right hand, took the mouthpiece that looked like a shard in his grip, placed it to his lips, and inhaled. The smoke was cool and refreshing as it entered his mouth and lungs, relaxing almost, yet Aaron took great care not to take in too much for he knew as well as anyone alive that the surest way of angering a soldier is to smoke all their cigarettes. _I’ll never forget that lesson._ He held the smoke for a few seconds and respired, his cloud dwarfing the lieutenant’s and creating a haze between the two. Looking down at the mouthpiece after taking it out of his mouth, he commented with wisps of smoke still coming out, “Very nice flavor.”

“The locals sell it in Cairo and they always sell out within minutes of opening the shop. Thankfully I have ways of ensuring that I get my share.” the German witch explained, taking back the mouth piece. “So you are Master Sergeant Aaron Divale.” she mused, tapping her fingers on the metal tube as if she was playing a flute. “I’m your squadron leader, First Lieutenant Hanna-Justina Marseilles. I see you’ve already met my right hand, Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen.”

“In a sense.” Divale responded, keeping things civil.

“My apologies for not having a chair for you, but you must understand that space is limited.” Marseilles stated.

 _I’m sure it is given how much fucking junk you’ve crammed in here._ “It is fine.” Aaron assured. “I’m used to standing to.”

“You’re not going to be doing much of that here.” Hanna illuminated.

“Indeed.” Pottgen chimed. “Neumann has us up and about every day at the crack of dawn conducting operations.”

“That’s good to hear. I don’t like being idle for too long.” Divale added.

Hanna clapped her hands gently together and grinned. “Excellent attitude!” she exclaimed. “We need people like you here. Most of the time, they go about the day as if it’s a field exercise.” She paused, her blues looking the warlock up and down. With a shake of her head, she said, “All this time I thought you were just some cocked up Allied propaganda. That is until I read your file.”

Aaron put on a look of amused surprise and uttered, “I’m quite impressed that they would actually take the time to make one in the first place.”

“And why would that be?” Raisa asked, genuinely curious.

“Simple my friend,” Hanna explained, turning to look at her counterpart, “it’s unbecoming to acknowledge or give credence to mistakes.”

The warlock kept his cool at such a gross insult. _Keep talking like that bitch and you’ll find out just how unbecoming I can be._ “I’m curious,” Aaron continued, keeping up the facade, “what does it say?”

“Nothing short of legendary exploits over the past six months or so.” the lieutenant hesitantly conveyed. “Schlepping French civvies to safety while behind enemy lines, rescuing the remains of the 114th Engineers which netted you a promotion and the Croix de Guerre, infiltrated Russia on a reconnaissance mission, conducted the successful liberation of Dover Castle with minimal losses, and held the line against The Leviathan.” She took another puff from the water pipe and put on a puzzled look to her face. “Despite these feats, they have remarkably little publicity.”

“The press and I have had issues.” Aaron answered.

“I take it you’re not too fond of them?” Hanna pondered.

“Oh no,” Divale countered, “I’m in fact very fond of them as long as they keep as far away from me as possible.”

“That’s going to be a problem here.” Raisa pointed out. “Neumann has allowed the press near free reign in this neck of the woods. While it’s a nuisance, it does serve a purpose.”

“Right you are.” Marseilles agreed, nodding approvingly. “It lets the world know that despite recent setbacks, we’ll continue to fight and fight hard. The fact that they gravitate to me, I will admit, is tough to deal with at times, but I ask myself, ‘If not me, then who’?”

 _Gravitate to you? Well, I can almost imagine how hard it is to deflect such attention when you’re whoring yourself out to them like you are._ “Very noble of you to sacrifice yourself, for the common good so to speak..” Aaron remarked, even adding a sigh of relief.

“Speaking of sacrificing for the common good,” the lieutenant went on, “I find it puzzling that you’re simply a master sergeant. If you were in any other unit, you’d be a major, maybe even a colonel by now. Ever wonder why that is?”

 _Read my file my ass. You probably just skimmed the cliff notes at best just to belittle me you haughty gloryhound._ “I may have a bit of a reckless streak at times and a slight problem with authority figures.” Divale accepted, looking down dejectedly.

Pottgen immediately pointed her right index finger at him like a dagger and murmured, “I called it. I fucking called it.”

Marseilles tisk-tisked with her tongue as she shook her head disapprovingly. “Having trouble minding your place master sergeant?” she mockingly queried. “Better yet,” she pressed, leaning forward in her chair, “do you even know your place here?”

Aaron swallowed hard, his acting job successfully fooling the pair, and ventured, “To do my job.”

“And what is your so called job?” the duo retorted in unison.

“To serve.” the warlock replied, the last word getting under his skin to the point where it was audibly evident.

Hanna stood up from her chair and put the water pipe mouthpiece down on the desk carefully. Placing her hands on her hips, she declared, “Now we are getting somewhere with you.” She then placed her right hand on her head and moaned so horribly that even a deaf man could tell it was fake. “I would like to chat with you some more, but I’m very tired.” she lied.

 _Thank fucking God for that. I hope you get a migraine you cunt._ “Where do I report for bunk assignment?” he asked.

“Go out the door and follow the road that leads toward the sea. You’ll see block after block of two story buildings with the old Union Jack signs to the left of the front door. Knock and see if they have a spot open.” Raisa instructed. “However, you should really get to your meeting first before making plans for the evening.”

Now it was Aaron’s turn to be confused, and not have it be part of an act. “What meeting?” he inquired, furrowing his brow.

At first, Pottgen looked upon him with annoyance, but once she saw his expression and took note of his tone and body language, she placed her right had over her mouth in shock. “She didn’t tell him!” she hissed out in a low voice.

“What does she mean by that?” Divale pressed, wanting to get to the bottom of the mystery as soon as possible.

Marseilles adjusted her collar and curtly explained, “Your transfer wasn’t entirely Neumann’s idea. Someone did the honors of planting the seed for you.”

“Who?” the warlock queried.

“Haven’t the damnedest clue.” Hanna snapped. “Never even asked for the name either. All I know for certain is that you’ll find whoever it is along the way at an inn called Sayidat Alnaema (Lady of Grace). Best be off.” Taking the hint that he was dismissed, Aaron stood straight, gave a courtesy salute, turned on his heels, and doubled timed it to the door. The lieutenant watched him open the portal to the dark outside and close it softly. Breathing the smokey air deeply out of relief, she looked down at the pilot officer and pondered aloud, “Makes me think as to why Edytha even went ahead with bringing him here.”

“If I were in her shoes, I’d have him be a fireman.” Raisa reasoned. “He’d be plugged into situations that don’t warrant our attention so our energies could best be spent elsewhere. The whole divide and conquer routine.”

Hanna smiled and clapped both her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “Very good theory, but it has one major flaw.” she countered. “That would imply that we need help. We may be few in number, but we’re still the best she has. No matter what happened, we got the job done. I’ll say this now Rai, we don’t need his help.” Pottgen started to open her mouth to protest, but Marseilles eyes flashed with rage and she immediately squeezed hard with her hands on her shoulders, causing her to wince in pain. “End of discussion!” she roared, silencing her subordinate. She then let go and and walked away, watching Raisa grimace as she rubbed her arms. “Besides,” the lieutenant continued, turning her attention to the hanging reminders of the past, “we both agreed that it would be for the best to blot that from our minds.”

Raisa nodded absentmindedly to stave off the worst of her friend’s ire and rolled her shoulders in an attempt to banish the last stinging vestiges. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hanna sift through the souvenirs of her career like a museum curator flipping the pages of an old manuscript. She knew from experience what she was looking for. Hidden among the foliage of success was knoll of tragedy in the form of a small black and white picture of the entire 31st JFS when it was a squadron. It was heavily folded and parts were rubbed to the point where whatever was there was now lost to time and memory, but the faces, those young, smiling, confident faces were still there, reminding them both of what was. _I miss them so much. The place was much livelier with them around. I know you blame yourself for what happened to them Hanna, but you mustn’t. There was no way to know what was going on before it was too late. No one could’ve prevented it._

Marseilles moved a strand slightly to the left and came face to face with the ugly past, the floodgates of her normally steel trapped mind breaking open, resulting in a deluge of thoughts. Her right hand moved almost on its own as it came up and grazed over the picture, passing over her dear fellow pilots one by one, good friends long gone, lost forever to the clutches of the enemy. Sh closed her eyes and sighed. _I know you mean well Rai and I’m sorry for taking it out on you, but you don’t understand. As squadron leader, it falls on me and me alone to ensure everyone’s safety at all times. It’s even in the manual. Many don’t blame me for what happened, but the few that do have considerable sway in the higher ranks and it’s only through the grace of Edytha that she’s cordoned off the worst._ The mention of her superior’s name ripped her mind from the past and planted it firmly back into the present. _Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do here Neumann. I’m onto you and your little plots. You want him to watch us, to make sure that we can still do what you ask. That’s why you brought him here and I’m willing to bet that it was meant to upstage me, to belittle and kick me while I’m down. Yes, I’m in the apogee, but make no mistake: The Star of Africa will rise again and shine brighter than ever. And, just to spite you and shove it back in your four eyed face, I’ll use the warlock to do it. He will serve my ends. He will serve all our ends._

**********************

A bright light and she stands there in the center of a dark room. The body is sagging, crushed under the weight of a guilty conscience. It shows in the green eyes, ones oh so full of regret for what she allowed to happen. A reflection of yellow is within them, sparking some sort of comfort to overtake the spine, making it that much straighter. Suddenly, vision shifts due to movement, an approaching shadow from behind. It grabs her, pulling her back violently. Fear grips the woman and arms instinctively go up to the neck to fend off this unexpected attack. The intensity of her terror increases as the twinkle of metal glows in the black. Realization kicks in. It is a gun, pressing itself firmly onto cloth and the flesh within it. Attention reverts back to the original subject. Unseen eyes lock onto her own. There is no sound, but one can still hear them plead for help in that split second before it dawns that there would be no salvation coming. The second stretches and stretches, bending time and space before…

A hard muffled clink brought Aaron out of his memories and back into the northern parts of Alexandria. Looking around, Divale could see that he was a few blocks past the long lines of barracks that Pottgen described and was now near the port proper, given the amount of sea salt in the air. Unlike the tiny homes that made up the bulk of the city, the structures around him were bigger and more open aired with strange windows in the shape of wide castle towers, heavily latticed with white washed hexagonal wood panels. Bazaars and warehouses lined either side of the road, wooden stalls with brightly colored awnings and decorative pennants fluttering in the evening breeze, all empty and unattended until the morning. Further along, lights from the moored ships in the harbor glowed like stars, bobbing up and down with gentle regularity. The light from the lanterns reflected off of moisture that still clung onto the piers. He didn’t need to strain his ears to pick up the sounds of lapping waves, idle chitchat from the random passerbys, and strange music from instruments and throats that he’d never heard before. The warlock furrowed his brow, for he didn’t see anything that would’ve made that sound. That was when he felt a queer sensation under his left foot. Looking down and lifting his boot, Aaron saw a patch of color that was far darker than the sand. He reached down and touched the spot. It was cool and solid to the touch. Divale let himself smile once he realized what it was. _It’s just a coin someone dropped here. No need to get spooked_.

Picking it up, he flipped it end over end with the tips of his fingers. Through what little light there was, Aaron could see that it was a very peculiar coin. Given how much he and his men scavenged over the years in Europe, Divale had seen hundreds if not thousands of denominations of currency; everything from rubles, francs, marks, lira, dollars, pounds, and back all over again and in many different styles. This coin intrigued him greatly as it was made, judging by the weight, entirely of silver, hexagonal in shape, and featured that flowing curved writing that was the primary language in this part of the world. All and all, it was very beautiful. His observation of his new found gain was interrupted by a scrishing sound, reminding him of twisting a boot into dirt. The warlock looked up and saw an old man, his bony hands clasping his long flowing white robe like clothes close to his chest, one fastened by a sash of black cloth. It was layered throughout, especially in the legs as a portion of the inner pants could be seen, hovering like a stained ring above his closed top sandals. He wore a goldenrod colored skull cap, a taqiyah and was staring at Aaron with a mixture of fear and curiosity. It was then that Divale had an idea and uttered as best as he could in a questioning voice, “Sayidat Alnaema (Lady of Grace)?” 

The elder gentlemen said nothing, yet pointed his right hand to something behind and to the left of Aaron. The warlock took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw a three storied building, one very long and wide yet not perfectly square, windows gushing light, music, and dozens of voices. Over the front of the establishment was a vivid red, white, and gold painted sign with more of that flowing script. Aaron reverted his gaze back to the old man and casually flipped the coin into the air to him. Though well advanced in years, the aged individual caught it in mid air with a flick of his right hand. After taking a quick look at the coin, he smiled, and returned the gesture of kindness with a salute. Divale smiled back, returned the salute, and watched the old man scamper off to parts unknown, his sandals crunching tiny depressions into the cool desert sands. Soon, he was alone and walked towards the inn. As he neared the place, his thoughts wandered with him, albeit in different directions and it made him slow his advance. _This is quite the predicament I find myself in. I need to vent before my meeting with my mysterious benefactor._ Aaron instinctively looked around for an alleyway, somewhere he could disappear for quick minute or two. While no one was out and about visibly, he knew from experience that one didn’t need eyes to see into ones private conversations. Unfortunately, a handy hideaway couldn’t be found, however he did spy with his spectacled eyes a recessed area to the right of the inn, a patch of sand trampled flat by camels who were tied to a long horizontal bar of wood.

 _There we go._ The warlock made a beeline for the group of animals and immediately wrinkled his nose as the stench of their fur and excrement piles picked up their scent. He hastily started breathing through his nose and mingled with them, though making sure he kept a distance away so as not to spook them. The camels noticed his approach and started to gather closer together, a silent sign of registering him as a threat. _Don’t make noise you smelly fucks. Don’t you dare._ When he got close enough, he took another quick look around him to make sure that he was alone. Then Aaron took off his glasses and turned them around in his hands, squinting his eyes so that his glow wouldn’t be noticed. “We need to talk about how F.U.B.A.R this situation is Ismenoth.” he whispered.

Both lens swirled, gray clouds with tiny coruscating arcs of lightning rippling across them. “Fucked up doesn’t even begin to describe it dumbass.” the demonness retorted, her image coming into view a second later, the darkness shrouding most of her face which was a fact that Aaron took solace in. “Let’s go over the facts of the case shall we? First off, the air commander who asked for your transfer got outed by her best squadron leader regarding whose idea it originally was.”

“Which would establish that the two are at odds.” Aaron deduced. “Probably brought about due to the reversal here.”

“That or she was lying through her teeth just to sow seeds of distrust between you and her.” Ismenoth counter. “It’s plain as day that she sees you as a threat, a usurper that has come here to take her fame away.”

“What fame?” Divale inquired in a heated tone. “She’s got trinkets of a past that isn’t going to come back no matter how hard she or her toady mouthpiece try and she damn well knows it. I could smell her insecurity.” He paused for a bit and nodded in understanding. “I get where you’re coming from though. She wants to control me through deceit and what better way to do it.”

“My, my, my.” the fiend marveled, her eyes sparkling like black diamonds. “And all this time I thought that whatever three pounds you had resting between your ears was lost to reason. Apparently, I can work miracles with shit for brains.”

“Speaking of miracles,” Divale digressed, ignoring the school yard style insult, “who in the fuck would have the clout much less the balls to impress that upon Neumann?”

“Duh!” Ismenoth mocked, crossing her peepers for comedic effect. “Someone with said clout and balls of course. Think Aaron! Think!”

The warlock furrowed his brow in thought and ventured, “It couldn’t be DeWiart since he’s not in a position to command anymore.”

“Yes, that’s a write out.” Ismenoth agreed. “So the only person that I can think of that could reasonably pull that off would be Churchill.”

Aaron shook his head. “He may be high up in the pecking order, but the man’s a politician. Some fat two piece suit wearing bulldog isn’t going to force Eisenhower’s hands. Plus, while he may not like me, the general does and would want me in a position to do the most good.”

The demonness rolled her eyes and Divale saw one of her hands come up to her forehead and slowly go down the length of her face. “Which is why you’re here you idiot!” she exclaimed. “Mother of fucking God you can be so dense sometimes!”

“I’m telling you, it’s not him.” Aaron pressed, doing his best not to smile at the fiend’s frustration.

“And the fuck are you going to find that out when you’re ankles deep in camel shit?” Ismenoth countered. “Go inside and see for yourself.” Aaron then made a move to put the glasses back on his face, but stopped and the gesture made her even more ticked off. “Now what?!” she demanded.

Divale then looked right at Ismenoth and uttered in a low voice, one full of hope, “If I need you, will you be there for me?”

Ismenoth was about to verbally bite the warlock’s head off, but the words made her retort die in her throat. A look a speechlessness came over her as the revelation dawned on her. _He can’t really mean it. Could he?_ “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked.

Aaron nodded sincerely. “When you took control in France at Notre Dame, you did it without permission and thus could not bring my full capabilities to bear in saving my life. We are in the shit here and I’m stripped of anyone that I can remotely trust.” He hastily leaned in and clarified, “To make it perfectly clear bitch, I don’t trust you as far as I can smell your ass.”

Finally, the demonness found her tongue and replied, “Yet I’m the only one that has your best interests in mind.”

Divale’s nose wrinkled again and not because a camel a few feet from him decided to void its bowels. “So I ask again: If I need you to assume control at a moments notice, can I rely on you to do it?” he reiterated.

Ismenoth nodded in the affirmative. “Yes.” she answered. “I will have your back.”

“And will give that control back to me when I request it?” Aaron continued.

“Oh, come on.” the fiend playfully protested. “Just give me a little leeway with that lovely body of yours.”

“You either save me my way, or it’s no way.” Divale flatly declared. “Your choice.”

Ismenoth sucked in her teeth and reluctantly acquiesced, “Fine.”

This time, Aaron did smile and placed the glasses back on his face, pushing them along the ridge of his nose with his right hand. His victory did not last long as he heard the throaty gruff of a camel behind him. Divale turned around slowly as not to provoke the animal and saw a large bull of the species glare at down at him. Suddenly, as the warlock was about to blink out of sight, the camel spat a phlegmy globule and it struck Aaron smack dab in the chest. He looked down and then back up at the camel with indignation. “That was a custom made uniform top asshole.” he muttered with disgust. With the speed of a bullet, Aaron cocked his right arm back, made a fist, and slugged the offending animal on the left side of the face with merely a fraction of his strength. It took his blow on the chin and merely stared back at him, albeit with what could’ve passed as a look of surprise. The standoff lasted a few tense seconds before the camel blinked and sat down on the ground with a dejected grunt. “That’s what I thought you smelly son of a bitch.” Divale insinuated, pointing his left index finger at the animal like a dagger. As if it realized its error, the camel looked down and away, letting Aaron walk past it and up to the threshold of the closed door of the inn. He could smell waterpipe smoke through the cracks and hear the clinking of glasses and snippets of conversation. Wiping off the saliva from his top with the backside of his hand and then removing the excess with help from the stone wall, he readied himself as best he could, took hold of the door handle, and let himself in.

A veritable torrent of smoke, noise, and light buffeted Aaron’s senses as the inside world of the inn came into view. To his right was an elaborate wallpaper scheme of purple, white, and gold, flowing like water along the entire length of the wall, depicting scenes from some sort of ancient gathering of merchants at an oasis. Crystal electric chandeliers hung from the ceiling, making the heavy yet fragrant water pipe smoke look like levitating writhing gray snakes. The ceiling itself was a dark stained wood, likely palm, with carved lunar motifs with bronze wire inlay arranged in a circular fashion, reminding Divale of a mandala. Going on his left was long hexagonal wood panel, only this was painted a bright red instead of white. The slats gave him free reign to look in to the room and it was filled with people sitting on chairs, low lying couches, tuffets, at round tables, drinking from glasses or metal tumblers, laughing and carrying on with the wait staff, smoking, and generally having a good time. Further on was the bar, much like the one he saw at La Rose Bleue in France long ago, though this was wider by about a foot, had three beer taps, and was staffed by three bartenders, all hard at work making drinks for people. Off to the left of that was a double door leading to the kitchen most likely, opening periodically by a waiter or two carrying trays of covered dishes. Beyond that, was a stairwell leading up to the second floor.

However, the warlock wasn’t focused on any of that, instead devoting all of his energies into gauging the threat level of two rather burly local men in street clothes standing close together with their hands crossed over their barrel chests. Normally, Aaron wouldn’t even bat an eye at such things, they were clearly bouncers who were just doing their job, but the fact that these two characters were visibly packing pistols in their back pockets made him pause. They were both staring right at him and the standoff continued for some time until the one on the right motioned for him to come over. Never taking his eyes off them, Aaron walked slowly forwards and halted a good arms length away from them. “Please tilt your head up and look towards the wall.” he said, the native accent nonexistent. Aaron did as he was told and the other individual placed his first two fingers on the left hand gently on his jugular, the skin rough and slightly warm. _They’re checking to see if I’m one of the enemy._ The impromptu doctor then turned to his compatriot and shook his head in the negative. When he got that response, the one that spoke to him then reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a blue green lapel pin about the size of the coin that Aaron generously gave away. “Wear this on the left side of your collar at all times when inside the premises. When you depart, please leave this with the bartenders on duty.” he instructed, holding the identifier out to him with his left hand. Divale took it and affixed it to where it needed to go. “We must also ask that you leave your backpack with us. Issues with contraband smuggling.” the man stated, gesturing to the warlocks pack.

Divale felt uneasy about leaving his guns and diary in the hands of people that he’d just met and trusted about as far as he could see them, but if that was the price he had to pay to gain entrance, so be it. “Make sure that I get this back when I leave.” Aaron said with emphasis as he took it off his back. “There are things in here that are quite personal.”

This time the silent one nodded and responded, “We understand sir. Your belongings will be secured in the back and closely guarded. The Lady of Grace takes your concerns very seriously.”

Aaron held the hefty bag in his hands and passed it off to the once mum gentlemen, who upon taking it, started to strain a tad from the load. “Anything else?” he asked the second as the first dragged himself away towards the kitchen doors.

“Enjoy your stay here sir.” was the only answer he got and he moved off to the side to allow him room for passage.

After readjusting his glasses, Aaron walked passed and into the interior proper, gazing through the wood panels to see if he could possibly find the person who helped get him here. _Has to be someone I know or at least knows of me._ He had hoped that his presence would cause his mysterious host to reveal themself, but it seemed like everyone in the place was preoccupied with themselves, a realization that made Divale uncomfortable, yet thankful at the same time. Looking back and forth, he took a quick gaze around, taking a passing glance at everyone’s face. Many inside were soldiers, mostly Germans and Italians with the occasional Japanese, likes sitting with likes. There were few locals, restricting themselves to the corners, talking away admist smoke and whispers. Hustle and bustle happened here and there with the wait staff and the drink runners that got up now and again for another round, creating a constant shifting in terms of bodies, but the warlock was used to keeping tabs on such things. Despite his best efforts and his excellent memory, he couldn’t see anyone he knew. Dismayed, he was about to go to the bar to get something to drink when out of the corner of his right eye, he spied the distinctive shine of long blond hair slinking amongst the crowd. _Now that’s something._ Aaron immediately traveled towards the sight, honing in like a pack of wolves stalking prey. Weaving around passerbys and scooting through tight confines caused by those unwilling to tuck in their chairs, he noticed that it kept moving like a will o wisp, luring him deeper. Another few feet and Aaron stood in front of a small square table for two with only one person sitting there on the left, killing the last of their drink. At first, their back was turned, showing him nothing but the back of the head and the gray yet clearly feminine dress. _A woman?_

The head then slowly turned to face him and Aaron’s heart skipped a beat when the lady looked at him with her blue eyes and uttered in Russian, “Ty moy chetyre glaza (You’re mine four eyes).”

For a long drawn moment in time, Divale couldn’t speak and when he did, it was more of a squeak than a phrase. “Tatiana?” he choked out, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Nabakov smiled from ear to ear and replied. “The one and only.” She set down her empty glass and added, “I’m surprised you took this long to find me. It’s not like you.” After thinking about it for a while she offered, “Would you like a drink? It’s on me. Unfortunately, Egypt doesn’t like traditional alcohol so the only thing that you’ll get here is mead. ”

Aaron shook his head, violently knocking him back to reality. “Sure.” he instinctively blurted out. “Biggest glass they got.” The woman nodded and got up to go up to the bar. He watched her go and simply stood there wondering if he was in fact dreaming. _She was the one that got Neumann to bring me here? Huh. Guess we were both wrong._ He regained his senses and pulled out the wooden chair with his right hand, the seat light as a feather. Sitting down, Divale couldn’t help but notice that many pair of eyes were staring at him, and not with any feelings of gladness. Despite their attempts to obfuscate the deed, it was all in vain, and the warlock came to the conclusion that it had to be out of jealousy. _Yeah she’s pretty folks but if you understood the situation, you’d be pitying me right now._

“Ostorozhneye seychas (Careful now).” Tatiana advised in her native language behind him, holding two large glasses in each hand. “Iz togo, chto ya slyshal, lyudi ne lyubyat, kogda ikh tak zreyut (From what I’ve heard, people don’t take kindly to being eyeballed like that).”

“Togda, mozhet byt', vy dolzhny skazat' im eto (Then maybe you should tell them that).” Aaron countered. He gestured to the spit stain on his uniform top and added, “Mne uzhe prikhodilos' nadevat' kogo-to za to, chto on dal mne staromodnyy yegipetskiy privet (I’ve already had to cuff someone for giving me an old fashioned Egyptian howdy).”

Nabakov chuckled, handed off Divale’s glass, and sat back down. “Chto ty, suka, udaril verblyuda (What did you, bitch slap a camel)?” she inquired

“Vy byli by udivleny, yesli by ya skazal da (Would you be surprised if I said yes)?” Aaron queried with a serious look to his face, before letting it shatter with a sly grin.

A few laughs escaped Tatiana’s throat before she offered a toast. “Dlya neozhidannykh vstrech (To unexpected reunions).” she declared. Aaron clinked her drink out of courtesy and took a draught. The honey base coated his tongue with a refreshing sweetness, but was soon overtaken by a burn that wasn’t from the alcohol. It took him aback and he coughed after swallowing.

“Chto v mire (What in the world)?” he muttered, looking into the golden liquid and swirling it around to see if he could fin out what was causing the heat.

“Eto sdelano s pertsem chili (It’s made with chili peppers).” Nabakov explained, taking a quick sip. “Sokhranyayet teplo v kholodnyye nochi i yavlyayetsya otlichnym protivovospalitel'nym sredstvom (Keeps you warm during the cold nights here and is an excellent anti-inflammatory).” Leaning back in her chair, she regarded Aaron and stated, “Pryamo seychas, vy dumayete, kak ya i, kak sledstviye, vy popali syuda (Right now, you’re thinking how did I and, by extension, you, get here)?”

Divale agreed, “Odin iz mnogikh voprosov, kotoryye u menya yest' k vam (One of many questions I have for you).”

Tatiana cleared her throat and began, “Ty pomnish' trenera, kotorogo ya vybil vo vremya nashey malen'koy igry v Kolchestere? Chto zh, yego dvoyurodnyy brat okazalsya predsedatelem sovetskogo sportivnogo byuro (You remember that coach I punched out during our little game in Colchester? Well, his cousin just happened to be the chairman of the Soviet Sports Bureau).”

“I ya tak ponimayu, chto on ne slishkom lyubezno posmotrel na svoyego rodstvennika (And I take it that he didn’t take too kindly to seeing his relative laid out)?” Aaron asked.

“Uchityvaya, chto mne navsegda zapretili uchastvovat' vo vsekh natsional'nykh i mezhdunarodnykh sorevnovaniyakh pod rossiyskim flagom, chto ty dumayesh' (Considering that I’ve been permanently banned from all national and international competitions under the Russian flag, what do you think)?” Tatiana conjectured. She took another sip of her mead and continued, “No eto vse khorosho, khotya. YA planiroval uyti v lyubom sluchaye (But it’s all fine though. I was planning to leave anyways).”

Divale cocked his eyebrow. “Pochemu (Why)?” he inquired.

“Russkiye mogut byt' khoroshi vo mnogikh veshchakh, no futbol ne yavlyayetsya odnim iz nikh. My tak daleko pozadi, eto dazhe otdalenno ne smeshno. Interesno, chto dazhe kogda ya byl v sbornoy yeshche do nachala voyny, my proigrali universitetskoy komande tri raza za god, i u nikh bylo vsego desyat' igrokov. YA znal, chto u programmy byli problemy. Dazhe slepoy mog videt' eto, no ya ponyatiya ne imel, chto eto chertovski plokho. Itak, s togo momenta, kak ya nadel krasnyy i zheltyy, ya uzhe planiroval polet na kuryatnike. YA byl yavno luchshim iz nikh, no ya khotel popravit'sya, i yedinstvennyy sposob stat' luchshe - igrat' i nablyudat' za svoimi igrokami. Ostal'naya Yevropa, v chastnosti Angliya, vperedi nas na veka, i skoro dazhe Yuzhnaya Amerika podnimetsya, i oni vsegda ishchut talanty. Poetomu, kak tol'ko ya poluchil topor, mne pozvonil glavnyy trener sbornoy Germanii (Russians may be good at a lot of things, but soccer isn’t one of them. We are so far behind, it’s not even remotely funny. Interesting fact, even with me on the national team before the war even broke out, we lost to a university team, three times, within the span of a year, and they only had ten players. I knew the program had issues. Even a blind man could see that, but I had no idea it was that fucking bad. So, from the moment I put on the red and yellow, I was already planning on flying the coop. I was clearly the best they had, but I wanted to get better and the only way to get better is to play and observe your betters. The rest of Europe, England in particular, are eons ahead of us and soon even South America will rise and they’re always watching for talent. So as soon as I got the axe, the head coach of the German national team gave me a call).” Nabakov semi ranted.

“Vy dolzhny byt' grazhdaninom Germanii, chtoby prodolzhit' (Don’t you have to be a German citizen to get on)?” Aaron queried.

“Oba moikh roditelya byli nemtsami, no iz-za territorial'nykh izmeneniy posle Velikoy voyny ikh zemlya stala chast'yu Rossii (Both my parents were German, but due to territorial changes following the Great War, their land became a part of Russia).” Tatiana responded with a touch of sadness which made the warlock regret asking and decide to not push the issue further.

“Eto zakhvatyvayushchaya istoriya, no ona ne otvechayet suti voprosa (That’s all a fascinating tale, but it really doesn’t answer the meat of the question).” Divale pointed out.

Nabakov squirmed in her chair, unused to being put on the spot, and responded, “Chast'yu stanovleniya polnopravnym chlenom sbornoy Germanii yavlyayetsya obshchestvennaya rabota. Tak kak ikh strany bol'she net, oni predlozhili otpravit'sya za granitsu, sovershat' poyezdki po svyazyam ili stat' poslom dobroy voli, chto budet sposobstvovat' ukrepleniyu moral'nogo dukha voysk (Part of becoming a full fledged member of the German national team is community service. Since their country is no more, they suggested going overseas doing bond drives or becoming a goodwill ambassador bolstering the morale of the troops).”

“I chto, chert voz'mi, zastavilo tebya vybrat' etu chast' sveta (And what the hell made you choose this part of the world)?” Aaron asked, taking a swig of his drink. “Yegipet ne sovsem v nachale spiska turisticheskikh napravleniy (Egypt is not exactly high on the list of travel destinations).”

“Ne budu vrat', pogoda sygrala svoyu rol' (Not going to lie, the weather played a part).” the Russian admitted. She then put on a serious look and gestured with her eyes around the room. “Posmotri vokrug, Aaron. Eti lyudi, vozmozhno, prekrasno provodyat vremya zdes', no ya znayu, chto vy mozhete videt', chto eto tol'ko iz-za zhelaniya sbezhat' ot surovoy real'nosti situatsii. Khodyat slukhi, chto vrag sobirayetsya atakovat' meneye chem za 48 chasov i perevernut' eto mesto, kak tank delayet yaytso (Take a look around you Aaron. These men might be having a great time in here, but I know you can see that it’s only because of wanting to escape from the harsh reality of the situation. Rumor has it that the enemy is going to attack in less than 48 hours and roll over this place like a tank does an egg).”

Divale paused and thought about just what Nabakov had said. _Probably just defeatism leaking out of loose lips. Then again, the outlook isn’t bright._ “Yesli eto tak, vy dolzhny smotret' otsyuda (If that’s the case, you should be looking on getting out of here).” Aaron advised in a low voice.

Tatiana rolled her eyes and muttered, “Ty i vse ostal'nyye chertovski. YA nikuda ne poydu, Aaron. Kak i vy, u menya yest' obyazannost' vystupat', i yesli prebyvaniye ryadom s nimi dayet im nadezhdu, chto lyudi tam zabotyatsya o nikh, pust' budet tak (You and everyone fucking else. I’m not going anywhere Aaron. Like you, I have a duty to perform and if staying by their side gives them hope that people out there care about them, so be it).”

 _If hope precluded death my dear, I would live forever._ “Otnositel'no togo, chtoby ostavat'sya ryadom s nimi, kak ty poluchil chervya v ukho komandira aviatsii obo mne (In relation to staying by their side, how did you get the worm in the air commander’s ear about me)?” Aaron asked, changing the subject.

The woman downed a significant portion of her mead, leaned in, and folded her hands, looking dead in his eyes. “To, chto ya sobirayus' vam skazat', zvuchit ochen' neveroyatno, maloveroyatno, no vse eto pravda (What I’m about to tell you is going to sound very very implausible, unlikely, but all true).” Tatiana started. “Cherez neskol'ko dney posle moyego priyezda ya progulivalsya po bazaru v poiskakh nekotorykh veshchey, kotoryye mozhno bylo by kupit' dlya sebya, kogda ya natknulsya na kiosk po naboru personala, pered kotorym stoyala ochered'. YA sobiralsya ignorirovat' eto, no potom ya uslyshal etot golos, i on prosto zastryal v moyey golove, i ya ne uslyshal, chto by ya ni delal. Lyubopytno, ya brodil, i tam nakhoditsya sama komandir vozdushnogo sudna, umolyaya vsekh i vsekh sposobnykh k zdorov'yu lyudey postupit' na voyennuyu sluzhbu. Nesmotrya na ispol'zovaniye tselogo: «yesli vy stoite bez dela, vy stoite s rutinoy vraga», ona, kazhetsya, ochen' khorosho izlozhila svoyu tochku zreniya, i nekotoryye lyudi vperedi podpisali dokumenty pryamo tam i togda. YA povernulsya, chtoby uyti, tak kak byl udovletvoren i ne zainteresovan v vstuplenii v armiyu, i ona zovet menya. YA povorachivayus', i ona podzyvayet menya podoyti blizhe (A few days after I arrived, I was walking through the bazaar looking for some things to buy for myself, when I came across a recruitment booth that had a line in front of it. I was going to ignore it, but then I heard this voice and it just stuck in my head and wouldn’t come out no matter what I did. Curious, I wander over and there is the air commander herself, imploring any and all able bodied persons to enlist in the military. Despite using the whole ‘if you stand idle, you stand with the enemy’ routine, she seemed to get her point across very well and some men in front signed the papers right then and there. I turned to go, since I was satisfied and not interested in joining the army, and she calls out to me. I turn and she beckons me to come closer).”

“Yesli vam yavno ne bylo interesno, pochemu vy ostalis' (If you clearly weren’t interested, why did you stay)?” Aaron pondered, swirling his glass.

“Ne znayu Navernoye, prosto khotel byt' vezhlivym. Ona sprosila menya, khochu li ya zapisat'sya, i ya otvetil net. Zatem ona otmechayet, chto ya yavno ne mestnyy, i ya govoryu yey, chto ya posol dobroy voli. Kogda ya skazal eto, yeye litso proyasnilos' i pointeresovalos', znayu li ya kogo-nibud', komu budet interesno (Don’t know. Probably just wanted to be polite I guess. She asked me if I wanted to enlist and I said no. Then, she remarks that I’m clearly not a local and I tell her that I’m a goodwill ambassador. When I said that, her face brightened and inquired if I knew anybody who would be interested).” Tatiana explained.

“I imenno zdes' vy podumali o dorogoy mne (And that’s where you thought of dear old me).” Divale flatly deduced, his eyebrows cocking further up than he thought possible.

“Tochno (Exactly).” Nabakov replied. “YA ostavil yey tvoye imya i vse. Yesli chestno, ya byl udivlen, chto ona prinyala eto blizko k serdtsu (I left her your name and that was it. To be honest I was surprised that she took it to heart).”

“Kak vy skazali raneye, surovaya real'nost' (Like you said earlier, harsh reality).” Divale said. He took another drink from his glass and sighed. _And that explains that. Boy oh boy this is cocked up._ He felt eyes on him and looked up to see Nabakov staring at him with concern. “YA v poryadke (I’m fine).” the warlock stated, trying to preempt the question.

“Vy khoteli byt' zdes' (Did you want to be here)?” Tatiana ventured. “YA imeyu v vidu, uchityvaya, chto sluchilos' v Anglii (I mean, considering what happened over in England)?”

“Zavisit ot togo, chto vy slyshali (Depends on what you heard).” Aaron deadpanned, clearly implying that he didn’t want the conversation to go any further.

Such a tactic didn’t dawn on the Russian and she pressed, “Pravda li, chto vysokopostavlennyy britanskiy chinovnik svyazalsya s etimi nayemnikami i pytalsya ubit' vsekh vas (Is it true that a high ranking British official fell in with those mercenaries and tried to have you all killed)?”

All Aaron responded with was placing his left index finger to his lips, the tell tale sign that he was bound to not divulge such information. “Chto ya mogu skazat' (What I can say),” he uttered after withdrawing the digit, “yavlyayetsya to, chto perevorot byl popytkoy i byl sorvan. Chto kasayetsya detaley, ya ostavlyu eto na usmotreniye mel'nitsy slukhov. Dostatochno skazat', chto plokhiye veshchi sluchalis' so mnogimi khoroshimi lyud'mi. Chto kasayetsya togo, khotel li ya otoyti ot svoikh druzey, ya v glubine dushi dumayu, chto smena stseny pomozhet moyemu nastroyeniyu, nezavisimo ot togo, kak F.U.B.A.R zdes' vnizu (is that a coup was attempted and was thwarted. As for the details, I leave that up to the rumor mill to question. Suffice it to say, bad things happened to a lot of good people. As to whether I wanted to depart from my friends, I deep down think that a change of scene will help my mood, regardless of how F.U.B.A.R it is down here).”

Nabakov reached out and took a gentle hold of his left hand with both of hers, the two barely covering it. “S toboy vse budet v poryadke. Prosto voz'mite eto den' za odin raz (You’ll be alright. Just take it a day at a time).” Divale was about to say something about that when a noise from the center of the room drew his attention away from her. A group of three men two holding a record player and the other a wooden crate, walked in and set them down. Shortly afterwards, a gaggle of women poured in from the kitchen and started courting men to dance with them as one of the gentlemen fishing out records from the crate. Tatiana’s face brightened. “O, ya lyublyu, kogda oni vypuskayut etot proigryvatel'. Eto luchsheye, chto yest' v etom meste, krome yedy i pit'ya (Oh I love when they bring out that record player. It’s the best thing this place has besides the food and drink).” she exclaimed with delight. She hastily turned back to Aaron and asked, “Ne khoteli by vy potantsevat' so mnoy (Would you like to dance with me)?”

“Tol'ko yesli ty smozhesh' ne otstavat' (Only if you can keep up).” Aaron replied with a grin.

Nabakov took it as a challenge and countered, “YA tak zhe bystr na polu, kak i na umnoy zadnitse (I’m just as fast on the floor as I am on the pitch smart ass).”

The warlock leaned in and dared, “Pokazhi mne (Show me).” With that, the two got up from their seats and proceeded to venture into the center of the room, a space that was rapidly filling up. They’d barely enough time to find a spot when the record player started blaring music, a lively tune which neither knew with a fast 1-2 rhythm. Aaron wasted no time and started to move like the wind, moving his body in time with the beat. Surprisingly, Tatiana not only kept up with him, but at times was actually taking the lead. _Impressive._ However, as the dancing went on, Divale noticed that she was clinging awfully close to him and gazing intently at him. The revelation hit him like a thunderbolt out of the blue. He then dipped her low, brought her back up to the point where her nose was nearly touching his face, and inquired with a voice barely above a whisper, “Vy khotite tantsevat', ili vy khotite tantsevat' (Do you want to dance, or do you want to dance)?”

Nabakov wrapped her arms over his neck and smiled softly. “YA chestno dumal, chto ty nikogda ne sprosish' (I honestly thought you’d never ask).” she murmured.

************

The incense smoldered in the brazier, the perfumed smoke seeping out of the vents and filling the cavernous underground room. A lone figure filled her lungs with the fumes and closed her eyes in sweet ecstasy. A smile of pure satisfaction creased her face. _Soon we will drive the enemy out of North Africa for good, take full possession of the Suez, and turn our attention south._ Opening her eyes once more, she looked back down at the table, the charts and maps scattered about almost at random, but in a pattern that she could easily recognize. Aerial photographs of the Alexandria defenses stared right back at here along with various assault plans and casualty projections. She absentmindedly tapped one of the pictures, one depicting the so called ‘Devil’s Garden’ in near full detail and squinted at several of the tanks stationed there. The image started to shimmer as if part of a mirage coming off a hot road in summer and the massive vehicles began to disappear.

A slight chuckle rose from her throat. _You really thought that you could fool the likes of me Neumann? Do you know who I am? Looks like I’ll have to remind you._ A scuffing sound jolted her out of her thoughts and she immediately stiffened, her pleasant mood rudely soiled by this intrusion of her privacy. The eyes found the source of the disturbance, a neophyte of the order, from her recollection one of the newest converts, the face and figure shrouded in a long black cloak with a hood, similar to the ones a plague doctor of old would don. However, the hood wasn’t perfect and a lock of blond hair could be seen. _Foolish German girl, yet she’s still new. Hard to believe she actually is of that people, considering her name._ The acolyte bowed her head and stated with great respect, “Please forgive me my intrusion mistress, but I bear momentous news.”

The mistress’s lips curled with contempt at such candor. “That will be for me to decide.” she replied, her tone clearly revealing her annoyance at having been disturbed. “For you sake, you better hope that I decide favorably.” She let the threat sink in and demanded, “Give me your report.”

“My mistress,” the neophyte began still hunched over, rattled by the warning, “the warlock is in Egypt, in Alexandria to be specific.”

The leader’s eyes widened with shock at the mention of this being and a dark heart raced with excitement, but not a single hint of elation showed on the face. “I find that hard to believe.” she casually mentioned. “The arrival of such a personage would have been already made known to me. I find it strange that some of my best agents did not do so, yet you have.”

“I’ve seen him with my own eyes my mistress.” the new recruit stubbornly argued. “Of this I have no doubt.”

“Watch your tongue!” the mistress shouted, her voice reverberating throughout the chamber. “Mind who you speak to!” she added, pointing her right index finger at her subordinate.

The neophyte visibly shuddered and hastily apologized, “Forgive me my mistress. My emotions got the best of me.”

Still enraged, the mistress started to walk slowly towards the neophyte, her sandaled feet hardly making a sound. “Rise and look upon me.” she ordered. Obeying without hesitation, the novice’s back straightened and the head tilted upwards. Though the light in the chamber was dim, the leader could see a pair of blue eyes staring back at her. With her left hand, the superior reached out through the hood and took hold of the jaw, the index and thumb positioned right over the main vessel of the neck, feeling them pulse with fear and dread. “Are you certain that your emotions didn’t get the best of your judgement when it comes to the warlock?”

“I-I’m sure, m-my mistress.” the girl stammered in fright, the eyes barely able to meet her own.

The mistress continued to gaze into the eyes of the neophyte for another few seconds before letting her grasp slip away, drawing a stuttering breath from the novice. Turning around and going back to the table, the leader declared, “Very well. Send word to my commanders of this news and that the attack will proceed as planned. Leave me now.”

Despite not having her in her sights, the sounds of a rushed bow and scamper told the mistress all she needed to know. Within seconds, the girl was gone and she was alone again with her thoughts, ideas that were tossed around this way and that like the contents of a digesting stomach. She rummaged in her front cloak pocket and pulled out a tiny glowing red Neuroi core, the size of a penny, and crushed it in her fist, the shards doing her hand no harm. With a flourish, she threw the fragments into the air. Up and up they climbed, but they didn’t fall, instead suspending themselves and coalesce into two separate spheres. She watched intently as they formed, searching for any kind of sign. The pair of orbs soon changed color, from a sanguine crimson to a vibrant bronze that seemed to swirl like a maelstrom. “Finally, after all these years,” she breathed, scarcely able to believe it, “you have come back to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Refreshed, but far from relaxed, Aaron returns to the HQ where he's kitted out in more ways than one and given a 'tour' of the front lines. After delivering a scathing remark that triggers an argument, the foe triggers their attack upon the city. The Battle of Alexandria rages and some friendships are born, while others die out.

**_ **Chapter III: The Thing That Should Not Be** _ **

_It hit without warning and without mercy. The change started as a quick harsh jolt of pain like a ruptured artery, but instead of that draining warmth of death, it was nothing but biting freezing cold. Starting in the heart, I could feel it push through my being like a maggot trying to chew through uninfected tissue. My stomach started to lurch, my vision blurred, and my breathing became little more than fevered gasps. Though it lasted a moment, it felt like forever. I never wanted her to help me, but now, looking at what she helped me do, I don’t think I can live without it. Even more frightening, I deeply believe that I actually liked it._

Diary Entry October 19th 1943

A bright light and the world is seeped in a baleful red glare. It is hot and foul in this place, reeking of blood and sweat. Shapes move within vision, blurred and foreign yet strangely familiar. Sounds of struggle reach a pair of ears and muscles tense and strain under some great weight. The obscure images slowly focus and realization kicks in. An attacker has one pinned underneath his weight. He is young, but the throes of anger contort the face so that one can no longer tell. A piece of metal is clutched firmly in the right hand, suspended less than a half inch over an eye. Sweat beads on an unseen brow and trickles down past the ear. It is a fight for survival now, both combatants knowing that one slight miscalculation will result in death. Grinding soil lets the pinned know that weight is being shifted. Adrenalin surges within a beating heart. The moment of truth had come. With a cry born of pain and anguish, the wrist flicks hard to the left and the reserved strength cracks bone, snaps tendons, rips muscle, and tears flesh within an eye blink. Helpless and looking at the ruined stump that was once a hand, the attacker leaves themselves open to the winning strike. A head goes forwards and vision goes dark in anticipation of the hit.

Cold water splashed against Aaron’s shaven face and it felt marvelous. Streams of clear liquid rolled down his smooth cheeks and ran down the neck and upper chest. He cold feel every movement of the cascading over his naked frame, for naked he was, as was usually the case upon waking up from a good nights sleep. His hands wiped away any stray beads that could’ve gathered on his eyelashes and he opened his eyes. In front of him was a slightly fogged mirror from the hot water he used to shave with. _This will not do._ Using the back of his hand, Divale wiped away the condensation, the sound of flesh upon wet glass sounding like some animal grunting. Now unobstructed, the warlock could see the fruits of his labors, though calling a ten minute shave labor was a bit of a stretch. He angled his neck this way and that, staring intently at the hard to reach areas, making sure that he didn’t miss any strays. _That’s the worse thing you can do, go and meet someone with a patch of scruff that you should’ve gotten taken care of._

A pressure started to build in his lower abdomen and he realized that he needed to piss. Looking towards the right of the sink, he found the toilet, one right next to the bathtub, a roll of toilet paper on the floor. His feet moved quickly over the tiled floor, a long series of hypnosis inducing tan diamonds with chalk white grouting and his head ducked slightly to allow him safe passage, for the wood ceiling was low and the beams jutted even lower. After navigating through the obstacle course so to speak, Aaron lifted the seat and was about to take charge of himself when a female voice called out, “Please, allow me.” He didn’t have enough time to look behind him as a pair of hands that weren’t his own playfully batted his away, took hold of his manhood, and directed the tip towards the bowl. Aaron also felt the warmth of another naked body behind him, this one much shorter, pressing a pair of erect nipples into the middle of his back.

Divale let her have her way and began to urinate. Over the sounds of the stream, he mentioned, “Didn’t have enough time to hold it last night Tatiana?”

Nabakov gave his member a playful squeeze and remarked, “Maybe. Besides, it’s the very least I could do.”

The warlock continued to relieve himself as his paramour nuzzled his back with her face, breathing softly. He thought about last night and reasoned it in his head as best he could. _From the get go, I knew that she some sort of designs for me. I don’t feel bad or guilty about the whole thing at all. Fact of the matter is, there was a need there, for both of us, and that need got satisfied. There’s nothing there in terms of affection. It was just a casual fling, nothing more or less._ Again, he felt a sensation near his groin and took a quick glance down to see Nabakov giving his Peter Paul a pinch and shake just before flushing the toilet. Aaron turned right around and took her in his arms, staring into her blue eyes. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.” he commented. She meekly smiled and he gave her a delicate kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to have to be off soon. I’m sure that Marseilles has a wonderful day planned for me.” he added with a slight grimace upon uttering the word wonderful.

Tatiana caught his mood in an instant and asked, “You don’t like her do you?”

“She sees me as a rival instead of a partner.” Divale explained, briskly walking out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. “We can accomplish so much more together than at odds.”

“From my recollection,” the Russian countered stretching her arms up while yawning, “the same thing happened with that Lieutenant Clostermann in England and look how that situation turned out.”

Aaron opened the drawers and pulled out his uniform, spit stain long gone save for a distinctive combination of saliva and whatever that damn animal ate last night. He sat on the bed and began to put on his socks first. “That was different.” he civilly argued. “You see, Perrine had something called common sense. She realized that she wasn’t going to get her way in making my life hell so she stopped and began to open her ears and heart more instead of her mouth. With the honorable lieutenant I find myself with, she sees me as an absolute threat to her ambitions.”

Nabakov sat on the bed next to him and handed him his undershirt and uniform top. “You really think that?” she inquired.

“I don’t think, I know.” Divale replied, throwing the shirts on. “I could tell that the moment I stepped foot inside that trophy room she calls an office.” After buttoning up his top, he stood up, grabbed his pants, and started to put them on. “Tatiana, I’ve dealt with a long of self absorbed pricks in my life, some of which I commanded believe it or not, but she’s got to be the most egotistical human being since Narcissus himself.”

The Russian nodded slightly and furrowed her brow in confusion. “You don’t wear any underwear?” she queried with curiosity.

Aaron pulled the belt tight through the clasp and tucked the excess along the first two loops of his pants before answering with a shake of his head, “Not on most days.”

An amused grin appeared on Nabakov’s lips. “Considering that bulky carry on you have, I don’t blame you.” she remarked.

“That reminds me.” Divale started, fishing his right hand through his back pockets. Tatiana cocked her eyebrows as the warlock pulled out a slip of paper and held it out to her. “Take this.”

She took it and saw that it had a series of number. “I don’t understand. What do these mean?” she asked.

“That’s my frequency.” Aaron illuminated. “If you ever just want to talk or need me for anything, get on a radio and give me a ring.”

Nabakov looked down at the paper, then back at Aaron, and started to hand it back to him. “You’re a good guy and I understand that you mean well-” she began, but stopped when Divale sat back down and gave her a concerned look.

He placed his right hand over her left and implored, “Listen to me Tatiana. You said so yourself that the enemy is looking to strike the city soon. I appreciate your sense of duty to those here, but remember: You can’t do your duty if you’re dead. Just take it.”

**********************

“I find it absolutely amazing how it’s not even 0700, and yet you’ve managed to piss me the fuck off just with your presence.” Marseilles ranted as she, Raisa, and Aaron walked through the streets of Alexandria. They were full of people, a sight that astounded the warlock given how close the area was to the front lines. Women and men alike crowded around stalls, shouting out orders and questions. Children were nowhere to be found, probably in school or at home. Lumbering camels led by their owners meandered through the throngs, vigilant onlookers calling out warnings so that the animals could pass unmolested. Everywhere where Divale looked, there was activity and noise, but despite all these distractions, they couldn’t mask an iota of Hanna’s incessant raving.

He landed less than five minutes ago at the 31st HQ, fully ready to tackle the day’s tasks, but no one was there to greet him for a good two minutes. Logically, he did what any concerned and confused soldier would do and radioed the lieutenant. However well intentioned this was, apparently he violated some sort of secret protocol and was verbally raked over the coals by his superior and told to wait. Another two minutes went by before the pair emerged, Marseilles with a sour look, and Pottgen with one that seemed to drift slightly from the subject. The pilot officer carried a sheaf of papers and refused to answer what they were when Aaron asked. What she did let slip was that they were going to the armory to get him armed and later brought up to speed as to what to expect in North Africa.

After rounding a corner, Hanna barked from up ahead without looking behind her, “When I got up at 0600, I expected to be able to easily find you. I talked to every single sergeant at arms in charge of every bunkhouse this side of the Suez and not a damn one of them knew where you were.” She stopped on a dime, turned on her heels to where she faced Aaron, and demanded, “So, that begs the question: Where exactly were you last night Master Sergeant Divale?”

“I was invited to stay the night at the Lady of Grace inn.” Aaron answered calmly and clearly.

“After meeting your mysterious benefactor?” Marseilles pressed. The warlock nodded in the affirmative and she inquired, “Why didn’t you notify us?”

“I didn’t have your comm frequencies.” Divale replied. “That, and I was very much preoccupied with making myself at home.” _Among other things._

A hand gripped the warlock’s left arm tightly and he looked down to see the disapproving face of Raisa, her eyes deadlocked to his. “You think this is a pleasure cruise master sergeant?” she inquired with a very stern tone. Aaron opened his mouth just a fraction of a millimeter to respond, but the angry pilot officer viciously cut him off with, “Well guess what smart ass? It’s not. From now on, you’re on a curfew. 2000 hours in sanctioned housing with followup checks. No exceptions.”

Marseilles smiled and applauded. “I couldn’t have said it better myself Rai.” Regaining her composure, she instructed, “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time today with this shit.” The group resumed their trek and as they carried on, Raisa sifted through the stack of papers, managed to pull one out, and handed it over to Aaron without a single word. Divale took it in stride with his left hand and looked down at it. It didn’t come as a surprise to find out that the page contained a good half dozen frequencies, but what astonished him was that such a document was merely bandied about in the open air with civilians around. _Now that’s very dangerous. What else is she toting around without any sort of protective case?_ Knowing just how serious it was, he quickly shoved it down the front of his pants, the only place he knew for a fact that no one can steal from without him noticing. A few more seconds later the trio stopped in front of a large compound. Unlike the sandstone block style which dominated the architectural scene, this was a reinforced aluminum framed unit that featured a convex roof, reminding one of the side of a can half buried in the ground. Like most of the structures it was painted to look like the surrounding environment, khaki in other words, but over the front entrance was a symbol, that of a golden shield with an alert eagle overlapping it, wings unfurled and beak open, with a black and red circle just behind that with a golden star above it. At first Aaron thought it was a stencil job, but when his eyes noticed visible bumps and a touch of flaking here and there, his jaw dropped. _That is hand painted._

“Beautiful.” he murmured in a low voice. Despite his best efforts to remain quiet, Pottgen picked up his words, yet strangely didn’t seem annoyed. Out of the corner of his eye, the warlock noticed that she looked rather happy. A thought crept into his mind and he ventured, “Did you do that?”

“Yes I did.” Raisa answered proudly. “All by hand with what paint I could get my hands on. ” She looked up at him and asked, “You like it?”

“It’s very well done.” Aaron admitted. “Truly a labor of love.”

“That’s our squadron standard.” Hanna explained, as she prepped to open the door. “Any and all buildings that we have control of have that symbol over it.” As soon as they were close enough to the threshold, the lieutenant opened the door and they piled in one by one. Aaron’s eyes adjusted to the dim interior and he soon found himself in a rather haphazard expanse. Immediately upon entering there was a long coat hanger to the left with cubby holes for ones personal effects. A few feet past that were three round tables, each with two chairs, the first had a chess board with all the pieces off to the side, another sat in front of a large presentation board, and the last was nestled to the right with a diner style napkin dispenser and salt and pepper shakers. Further along from the last table was a row of metal lockers, six in all with four of them wide open. _Looks like it wants to be a hotel, restaurant, and meeting hall at the same time._ He also noticed that the place had a pall of lonely neglect about it. Squinting a tad, Divale could pick up the shining fluttering motes of dust circling in the air like mini tornadoes or lining a majority of the furniture. Some streaks of hastily done cleaning could be seen along with the occasional dirty rag on the concrete floor. Most discouraging of all was that over the open lockers were heavy scratch marks. The warlock had been in many barracks over the years and knew from experience what those meant. _They had owners once, owners that don’t need them anymore._

Marseilles didn’t even so much as look at it before ordering, “Rai, get the packages. You can leave the papers with me.” Pottgen did as she was told quickly and went back out the door, shutting behind her softly. Now alone, Hanna breathed in deep and smiled. “Home sweet home.”

Aaron caught the resignation in her tone, but decided to play it cool. “Seems like a bustling place.” he commented with a nod, panning his vision around. “I take it that this is an area where the squadron goes to relax?”

“And to receive briefings and chow.” Marseilles illuminated, shuffling and thumbing the papers in her hands in a way that made it clear that she despised handling them. She gestured to the dining area and they both made their ways there, the superior on the right and the subordinate on the left. After clearing her throat and plunking the stack of paper down, she began, “I do apologize for last night, but much has happened that has taken my attention and energies elsewhere. So, do you have any real questions?”

“Any?” Divale countered. “As in nothing off the table?”

The lieutenant looked off to the side real quick, thinking it over. “Yes, but I reserve the right to not answer.” she decided.

The warlock took off his glasses, letting his true eyes out, folded them, and placed them in his back pocket. Folding his hands, he started off with, “There used to be more of you?”

Marseilles reluctantly nodded, clearly uncomfortable. “There used to be six of us.” she stated. “During the fighting retreat back to Alexandria, they were captured and turned by the enemy. It was all their faults though. They stupidly got separated from the main groups and overwhelmed.”

Taking that last statement in, Aaron kept his composure despite knowing that it was a bold faced lie. “So they’re out there? Just further west of us?” he inquired.

“That,” Hanna pointed out while sifting through the pages, “will be what you are going to find out.” A second later her face brightened and pulled out a slip of paper. She casually slid it over the table, a half months worth of dust scraped off like table scraps along with it. Aaron leaned over and saw detailed photographs of Striker Units, most of them broken and battered beyond repair, with red chevrons along the flanks, numbering from one to four. “The enemy don’t use a formal system of rank that we’re used to. Names and numbers mean nothing to them. However, they defer to those with these symbols along the Striker Units. Now, this is a blown up version. The actual size is very small, much like a coin. However, they can readily identify who has them and obey their orders without question.” she explained.

Divale hovered over several shots and deduced, “Obviously, the more of these markings that one has, the higher up in the food chain they are.”

“And the more dangerous.” Marseilles added without humor. “They are more than a match for any pilot in this army which is where you come in. Your job will be to spot these individuals and eliminate them on sight.”

The warlock furrowed his brow and looked up at the lieutenant. “Undercover or in the field?” he asked.

“Only in the field.” Hanna responded curtly. “You’re the first replacement pilot we’ve personally had in months and I’m not going to throw you away, no matter who tells me otherwise.”

 _My God. That’s probably the first nice thing you’ve said to me. I think we’ve had a breakthrough. Ha ha ha… I think not._ “So strictly search and destroy. Not to study or bring back?” Aaron pressed.

“Don’t have any reason to. We have had opportunities to glean a few things from the foe here and there.” Marseilles responded. “Most of it comes through second and third hand sources though. Cracked codes and stuff like that.”

“Anything that could be verified?” Divale inquired.

“The core they have in their chests functions as their heart, albeit a lot tougher than the genuine article. Destroy that and they die, just like a Neuroi. It also gives them faster reflexes and great physical strength and endurance, making them even more lethal. No clue if it enhances existing witch powers.” Hanna recollected. “Other than that, they’re just like us. They need to eat, sleep, drink, and relive themselves.”

“What about who’s the boss, where they are, why they’re doing this?” Aaron pondered aloud.

“Any captives that we’ve taken visibly can’t talk about who’s giving the directions. It’s like something’s forcing them to remain tight lipped. No matter what we did, they never cracked.”the lieutenant informed.

“I have ways that I’m sure you haven’t tried.” Aaron declared, flexing his right hand. “If I can get my hands on one, I would like to have a friendly chat with them.”

“I would very much appreciate it you didn’t,” Marseilles retorted, “but if you can manage it, by all means.” She was going to say something else when the front door opened with a tired huff. Both whipped their heads around in time to see the tiny pilot officer laden with two sets of Strikers in special carrying cases that looked little more than steel milk crates and a very long wooden box with a seared serial number etched on the side. Sweat was on her brow and she was clearly struggling, but Hanna didn’t so much as bat an eye at the situation. Deeply incensed by such an aloof display, Aaron got up from his seat, jogged on over to Pottgen and offered to help by merely holding out his hands.

Raisa noticed and used her eyes to tell him silently to take the long box. “Just be careful with that one,” she cautioned, wriggling her body so that he could grab it, “because it’s quite heavy.” Taking her advice, Divale carefully extracted the package from the pilot officer’s person and hefted it up onto his shoulders like a weightlifter. _She wasn’t kidding. Nothing I can’t handle, but still very heavy. What in the world is in there?_ He walked with her and leaned it against his body when he sat down in his chair while the witch set down the Striker cases next to Marseilles who nodded approvingly. After taking up her position on the right side of her friend, Pottgen looked at the package, then back at Aaron. “Aren’t you going to open it?” she inquired.

The warlock pointed at the gift and then himself, and after getting the affirmation from both, he dug into the box, ripping it open with his bare hands. Nails were wrenched out with the sound of rusty gears grinding against each other and thick wood planks splintered and cracked into toothpick sized pieces. Before long, a mess was at his feet and clinging to his clothes, but in his hands was a weapon, one that Aaron had to acknowledge that he never laid eyes on before. It was a long gun with a three inch diameter bore, a solid steel counterweight which doubled as a fore grip that ran all the way down to the trigger, no sight to speak of, and a bulbous muzzle break with the holes on either side. The feeder mechanism was aligned to be on the side rather than underneath just like his machine gun, but it had no feeder guard over it. On the side was a symbol, an etched recessed 18th century artillery piece with two crossed bayoneted rifles over it it. “That is a witch combat cannon based on the 17 pound antitank gun used by the British when they were still around. It fires said weighed shell at 12oo meters per second and can strike targets effectively at close to a mile away. Very powerful weapon, almost comparable to our 88mm. Can penetrate virtually anything the enemy has at their disposal.” Hanna elaborated as Aaron marveled at his new toy. “That was made at the Gun & Shell Factory in Cossipore India.”

“What’s the recoil like?” Divale asked, looking down the length of the barrel to see if he could gauge where a good sight line could be installed.

“Like a hard slap on the chest.” Raisa answered. “Worried that it might be too much for you master sergeant?”

“I used tank barrels as billy clubs in Berlin, some with the turrets still attached.” Aaron replied grimly, thinking back to those days once more. “I can handle it.” He then stood up from his chair and started twirling the cannon like a marching bandleader does a baton. “So when do I put her through her paces?”

“After we give you a quick rundown of what our defense lines look like.” Marseilles responded. She was about to go through the stack of papers again before her right hand man had an epiphany and anxiously tapped her left arm. Stopping what she was doing, Hanna leaned in and Raisa cupped her hands over her mouth and began whispering in her ear. Aaron watched this all play out and cocked his eyebrow. _Now, I’m no betting man, but I’m willing to stake something on this being less than stellar._ Hanna’s eyes lit up light Christmas lights and she smiled in a smug way. “Given the nature of our situation here, and how important the Suez is to the war effort, the world is figuratively and literally watching our every move. That said, there’s a sizeable contingent of-” she started to illuminate, but Aaron could already tell what she was going to say after hearing the first sentence.

“Let me guess lieutenant,” Divale politely interrupted, sitting back down and placing the gun on his lap, “the paparazzi.”

Pottgen cleared her throat. “The correct term is war correspondents.” she corrected. “While we know how you feel about them, they serve a vital role here.”

 _To your highly vaunted friend there maybe. The only way I’d find them useful is if they put down the pencil and pen and pick up the rifle and charge._ “Neumann is also in full agreement.” Marseilles affirmed, standing up from her chair. “To that end, every squadron has a liaison with the press so to speak. We’re required to update them daily on our doings, barring matters of importance of course. Since you’re the newest member with the most to open up about, I feel that it’s for the best to have you be the focus of attention for now. For us, since we are the best, we were given the best.” She then placed her hand on her communicator, pressed the send stud, and uttered, “Come right in.” Aaron’s eyes shifted to the door mere moments before it swung open. Light from the outside bathed the figure in an almost golden like aura, but the warlock’s eyes were proof against such natural phenomenon. Adjusting quickly, he saw a man, probably in his late twenties and easily a fit six feet tall wearing a tan uniform. His hair was dark brown and slicked back, skin barely touched by the sun, the eyes hazel, and donned a small yet neatly trimmed caterpillar like moustache. By the very way he stood, Divale could tell right away that he was definitely not in the armed forces, and he groaned internally.The war correspondent bowed his head slightly and waved to them all as he stepped past the threshold and closed the door behind him.

When that was done, he walked up to Hanna and said in a voice that was made for the radio, “Thank you for letting me see him. The people back in the States hadn’t had a chance to get the real story from one of their own.” He then turned his attention over to Aaron and introduced himself. “My name is Walter Cronkite, United Press International. And it’s pleasure to meet you Master Sergeant Divale.”

The warlock stared up at him from his chair and slowly nodded without a single word, a move that made Marseilles face turn red with anger and embarrassment. “Much like myself, Mr. Cronkite is the name to know in his line of work. I dare say he’ll be quite the celebrity one day.” she stated, her pride barely masking her displeasure.

Walter waved off the praise. “Oh don’t make a big fuss about little me.” he meekly retorted. “I’m just doing my job.”

“What does America know about me?” Aaron suddenly asked, bringing the room to silence.

The question seemed to momentarily catch Cronkite off guard, but he recovered near instantaneously. “Besides what the Brits have said about you few months ago, not very much. Americans like to read their papers, not everyone elses.” he admitted.

Aaron crossed his legs and folded his hands, adjusting his new weapon’s position to make himself more comfortable. A plan started to form in his head and, though it galled him to even consider going through with it, figured it would be the best move to punish his superior for foisting this unwanted weight on his shoulders. _The best and your primary means of maintaining your fame here isn’t he Lieutenant Marseilles? It would certainly be a shame if someone, what’s the phrase, became the apple of his eye._ “What if I gave you an interview that shed more light than what I told them across the way, told you and your viewing public things that would give you and your network quite the buzz for weeks to come?” he offered in the sincerest voice he could muster.

Though all in the room were quiet when he said this, his hearing could pick up the sounds of widening eyes. Walter stammered, almost unable to believe what he was hearing, ”Y-you would? W-Willingly?” Aaron nodded in the affirmative and without hesitation extended his hand with a broad smile. The war correspondent shook it firmly. “You have no idea how happy that makes me!” he declared with excitement. “This is going to put my network square on the map for generations! Seriously,I don’t know how to thank you!”

“Start by being by my side for the day so that you can get a firsthand look at a day in the life of a simple warlock like myself.” Aaron instructed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the effect that his stunt was having on Marseilles and it was glorious to behold. The jaw was lock tight, the lips withdrawn into the mouth, with the teeth practically grinding the flesh into shreds. Her complexion went to from tan, to red, to violet in less time that it took for him to complete his statement. _My, my, my. Are we a bit miffed there Hanna dearie? Play your games and I’ll play mine._ “Now of course,” Divale digressed, focused fully on Walter, “this is all dependent on if my superior approves.”

Eyes shifted over to the lieutenant, who dropped her negative countenance like a bad habit and started to smile, her new found skin color making it look like she was blushing from this unexpected praise. “Have no fear.” she assured, the timbre in her voice impressing Aaron, “You will have full access to the master sergeant within the day.”

Glad of the answer, Cronkite grinned and commented, “And that’s the way it is.” Nothing further came out of him for there was no need. He silently excused himself and left the building, closing the door behind him. Free from his presence the ire returned to Hanna and she glared at Aaron venomously.

“Might I ask why you’ve done a complete 180 on this?” Hanna asked, her gaze never straying from the warlock.

Divale simply shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Like the man said, it is what is. No sense in fighting something that you can’t fight.”

“Hopefully you saved some sense for the real enemy.” Raisa muttered.

Marseilles made a low grunt in her throat and thumbed through the stack of papers once again. She found a trio of pages, pulled them out, and arranged them in front of Aaron. He lifted the anti tank gun off his lap and leaned it against the back of his chair, the long barrel grazing his right shoulder. Then, Aaron leaned forward and saw that the pages were in fact pictures, aerial photographs of defense lines, presumably the ones around Alexandria. “So this is the vaunted Devil’s Garden.” he inferred.

“Indeed.” Hanna answered, her mood still noticeably agitated. “As it stands, from where we are to the front, this is the best defense that the world has ever known. No matter what the enemy does, we’ll throw them back.”

Aaron nodded, more out of courtesy than actual agreement and started to scrutinize the photos. On paper, the fortifications were formidable. Alexandria rested on the sea which, given that Neuroi couldn’t cross bodies of water like that, secured the northern right flank. In addition, there was a lake further to the south of that, meaning the enemy had only a two mile front to pound. Another created the same type of front, but past that, running all along the south of the city, was a long tract of flat land At the very edge of the defense lines, the ones closest to the enemy, was a massive six mile deep minefield. _No doubt a mix of anti tank and personnel to maximize effectiveness._ Past that, lining the border of the danger zone, were camouflaged machine gun and light artillery bunkers with gorgeous fields of fire. Behind them were rows of dragons teeth and mortar pits. Then the elevation went up several degrees, in some places quite drastically. Separated by maybe three hundred feet were three snaking parallel trench lines, each one higher than the previous, enabling those defending in the back a clear view. The warlock knew from experience that it wasn’t the natural height as it was far too level uniform. _That was done by machine, not nature._ However, there was a curious feature that made him cock his eyebrows. As his vision panned over the last trench line, the ground looked very bubbly, as if hundreds of holes were dug up, partially filled, and left the rest on the surface, almost like a cemetery full of unfinished burial plots. He tapped the feature with his right index finger and ventured, “What is this?”

Pottgen was the one who responded, “Those are blasting points. Command ordered them to be built underneath that area and it runs up to the very edge of the last trench line. Those points each have a detonator which connects by long fuses to stockpiles of explosives that we can’t use. Different ammunition calibers, excess materials, the usual. In the unlikely event that we are overrun, we have orders to blow them up as to deny the enemy use of them which also will take out a vast majority of the defenses we’ve built.”

“And what will that do to the city?” Aaron asked.

Raisa went from comfortable to uneasy upon hearing that question, swallowing hard before replying, “Damage will be extensive, but most of the civilians have evacuated so casualties will be fairly minimal.”

 _In other words, you don’t know, but are confident that they will be within standard projections._ Divale stifled a groan and then had a revelation. “Since we still control the Suez we can get ships into the Mediterranean. Do we have any offshore to provide coastal bombardment?”

“There are six ships in total. Three destroyers, two light cruisers, and a pocket battleship. Unfortunately, they’re interwar designs that were intended to be used exclusively against other sea vessels, meaning that the shells are unsuitable for hitting soft ground like sand. They’ll simply sink into the dunes. Though we have raised this issue constantly, we’ve been told that due to losses and mitigating circumstances, that’s all we have to rely on.” Marseilles informed.

“But the shells can be recalibrated correct?” Aaron pressed. “A delay fuse or even a mid air burst at low height?”

“From what we understand, the climate affects the charge, making consistent results sporadic at best.” Hanna answered. The warlock put both his hands to his face and sighed, shaking his head as he did so. “Regardless of how bad you seem to think this situation is, we’re safe.”

“As safe as a hen with a fox in the coop.” Divale uttered derisively.

That got under Marseilles skin and she stood up our her seat, grabbed Aaron by the collar of his uniform, and screamed into his face, “You are a soldier of the Allies. Under the articles of war, such defeatism could be seen as cowardice, and in these times, it carries the sentence of death. Do you want that?!”

Aaron’s face was granite stone in terms of expression and he simply stood up from his chair slowly, the lieutenant’s grip loosening as his height pulled her feet up and off the ground. She let go and was about to verbally rip into him some more when Divale stated bluntly, “I’ve heard such proclamations in France and Germany when I infiltrated their military’s and sat in on officer briefings regarding the Maginot and Siegfried lines respectively. Both states thought their lines impregnable and said as such. Those men are either dead or ruined, much like their men, their vaunted defenses, and their countries. I was there when the hammer fell on Berlin and Paris where many here were not. I have every right to say this. And as for this so called defeatism, what you call pessimism I call realism and the reality is that if we make that same mistake, we’re all going to to die.”

Pottgen stood next to Marseilles with a mean look in her eyes. “You can’t honestly believe that they stand a chance of breaking through!” she boldly declared.

“I don’t believe; I know they will break through these lines and I can show you how.” Divale boasted.

“Like you would know!” Hanna spat out with more than a hint of contempt.

“True,” Aaron cooly mocked, “for all my experience I’ve only managed to lead one thousand men on a suicide mission that helped stall the Neuroi for almost three years, without reinforcement, without adequate supplies, and no means of enlisting outside aid other than who we could fool for the sole purpose of buying people time to evacuate and help create the weapons that you all have resting right beside you.” He gestured to the pair of Strikers for effect, placed his hands to his sides, and continued. “But of course you’re all right: I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.” Divale then whipped around, grabbed all three pictures with his left hand, and held them up in front of the witches. “The honorable lieutenant has told me that the enemy is just as if not stronger and faster than the men currently manning these lines, a statement that I firmly believe to be true. However, it left out the intelligence of the foe we’re dealing with, a fatal flaw if I’ve ever seen one.”

“You’re a piece of w-” Marseilles began and was shut down immediately when Aaron made a series of high pitched ‘dat dat dat’ noises at a machine gun fire rate.

“I’m talking, you’re not!” he bellowed so loudly when he was done that it made both women take several steps back. “The attack will open with a rather ingenious tactic.” Aaron continued. “The enemy took many vehicles and supplies from you when they surprised and pushed you back here. Sixteen hundred miles is a long way away from here. Hundreds of thousands of men and tens of thousands of armored vehicles take up a lot those supplies. True, they got supplemented by overrunning depots along the way, but those have got to be running low. When I was in Europe, anything that relied on fuel was broken down and made into more useful things, like bullet casings and such. That said, keeping these tanks, halftracks, and armored cars just aren’t feasible and they know that. So, what they’ll do is fuel them with maybe a pint or two of petrol, put a big old rock on the accelerator, attach long wires or bulldozer blades in front, and let them go as far as they can into that minefield, sweeping a path through and giving themselves cover along the way.

Naturally, you will try to stop this from happening. You invested all the time and energy into placing those mines so it would make sense to preserve them so they can do what they were designed to do. Artillery and antitank guns will open up from their positions. However, when they do fire, spotters will see the muzzle flashes, triangulate those coordinates, and begin counter-battery fire. This tit for tat goes on for some time. Guns get knocked out, people die, and for each loss on our side, we get weaker and they get stronger. They have the men and material to lose, we don’t. Some time after this, enemy armor will come into play with infantry behind. They’ll advance under cover from the sand cast up by the incessant barrage. It will make it hard to see for both sides. Maybe we’ll get lucky and some elements get lost in the shuffle, but a majority will get through. When that occurs, witches get the call for CAS to find them and root them out. The enemy launches their fighters en masse and we send up the rest of ours to protect them. Again, they have a numbers advantage, and they’ll use that to screen their forces and prevent you from making inroads, bottling us all up into a zone where they can then hit us with long range flak brought up from the rear. I want to make it very clear that this strategy will play out on the right flank and the center.”

“Which make sense considering location, but logistically it’s stupid because those are our strongest points.” Raisa peeped.

“At first glance yes. If I were assaulting something like this, I would probe the entire defense line using small units, taking minimal casualties rather than scads of them. Considering the circumstances, with having the foe’s back against the wall so to speak, I’m going for the knockout. What this rush will do is pin you down, making reinforcements that much harder to find close by.” Aaron reasoned.

Hanna then took in a deep staggered breath as her brain caught where Divale was going. “Which means that we’ll have to take them from the left flank and most of them are decoys!” she gasped.

“Correct.” the warlock grimly acknowledged. “That position will be well within the range of enemy scouts and spotters who will look at the movements and think to themselves, ‘Hmm. They need men to reinforce their lines in the center and right. I see nothing coming from the city itself. Ah, here they come, right from the left where we expected. Now wait, what is this? Most of them look to just be standing still. Most strange. Why would that be? Oh, I know! They’re not real! They have nothing over there! Let’s wrap this up.’ And that’s when they send the creme de la creme, the Neuroi themselves along with the heaviest tanks and the most battle hardened troops to crush any resistance over there. Left folds, we get taken in the rear, path of retreat is cut off, and most of us get killed and the rest serve new masters.” He then let go of the pictures, the photos fluttering to the ground like dead leaves from a tree. Silence reigned for a long while before he added, “Shocked? Dumbfounded? Flabbergasted? I’m not and neither should you.”

“Command will adjust to the changing circumstances.” Marseilles stubbornly declared. “They will not allow what you say will happen.” As if on cue, a bevy of sirens started to wail, causing everyone in the room to look up and towards the door.

Aaron shook his head as he put his glasses back on. “They already have lieutenant.” he replied. “And we’re going to pay dearly for their mistake.”

****************

A bright light and silence, but there is a ringing sound. It is low keening wail, reminding one of a whistling kettle, but quite far far away. It subsides after a few seconds and is replaced by others that are much more louder, but indistinct for the moment. Sight adjusts, piercing through the pall, picking out blurred shapes. Other senses come into play. An unseen nose picks up the tell tale stench of spent powder and fresh soil while jolts of pain shoot up, in, and around the sides of the head. Mind works to process to what happened and comes to the likeliest conclusion: close range explosive aftershock. Breathing is normal, no warm sensations anywhere, and no further pain beyond what is felt what is judged to be the ears. Comfort is found in those facts, but only for a split second as vision clears up more and more, revealing a battlefield, a subsection of the world gone to hell. Men are yelling, firing, crying, dying, and everything else that such conflict engenders. A hand goes up to the eyes and….

Aaron removed his glasses calmly and placed them into his back pocket for safe keeping. _Wouldn’t want to get those broken._ After the alarm was sounded, Marseilles ordered him to leave and be in a position where ‘you can be useful’.To that end, he took it upon himself to double time it to the front, the center of the defense line around Alexandria to be specific. _Why would I go anywhere else? The distance between us and the enemy is the shortest at that point._ However, he took a slight detour, going a tad more to the left. _When what I say comes to pass, I need to be in a position to react quickly._ As he advanced, panning his head left and right to locate a good spot, the sound of artillery and explosive detonations rolled like thunder over the dunes, punctuated by the shrill voices of gun crews calling out orders for realignment, loading, and confirmation. The streets he was scampering through were lifeless, whatever civilians remaining hiding or long gone. His thoughts drifted back to Tatiana at the inn, but he quashed them. _Can’t think about her safety right now. I need to focus._ He carried all his weapons with him, the machine gun in his hands, the shotgun in his leg strap, his TT-33s in his left and right pockets, and his newest addition, the 17 pound anti tank gun was slung over his back. The weight of the guns plus the ammunition would easily equal that of a fully kitted soldier, but he continued to move at a fevered pace, the burden doing little to impede him. _Besides, that load will lighten as time goes on._

Rounding a corner, Divale heard the harsh click of a cannon breach being closed. He looked to his right just in time to see the gun crew of an 88mm at their stations, motionless like statues, until the officer yelled, “Feuer (Fire)!” With a split second, the artillery piece was fired, the explosion, loud and clear, emanating from the tip of the barrel. The plume of orange and red didn’t even had time to dissipate before the long barrel slid back, using the gases caused by the discharge, until it crossed the shell ejector port. A ‘flunk’ sound was heard and the hollow shell casing, steaming from the heat of firing and spent powder charge, flew out and landed to the left. It didn’t even have enough time to come to a stop upon hitting the sand before the crew sprung back to life, checking the breach, applying coolants, prepping another round for insertion, and repositioning the weapon itself. Only the officer stood still, a pair of binoculars in his clenched hands glued to his eye sockets, watching and hoping for a successful shot attempt.

Curious, Aaron unfurled his wings and flew straight up, past the roofs of the low lying buildings and hovered over a ten story minaret. The site gave him a perfect view of the battlefield. Off on his right, a pall of smoke from artillery discharge clung to the front lines like a fog of swirling gray leeches, the booming fire from the cannons opening up patches of the stuff from time to time only to be closed up again by even more fumes. He could smell it in the air, a vapor so pervasive that he was convinced that he’d have to take a shower afterwards. Panning from right to left, Divale’s eye picked up the dozens of shell tracers, whistling through the air like shooting stars over a slightly undulating desert, some coming so close to the dunes that sand kicked up. Their targets were scores of trucks, tanks, jeeps, even some civilian cars and construction vehicles, all ramshackle and ready for the scrap yard, speeding like demons from hell itself into and through the minefield. Quite a few didn’t make it, tripping a mine and becoming a ball of shrapnel or skidding to a halt and toppling over on their sides, dotting the landscape making it look like a vast patch of pale orange yellow skin with gunmetal gray and black liver spots. Those that did left a trail of divots in the sand, making it resemble the moon rather than planet Earth. Squinting his eyes, the warlock could see that some of the wrecks had feelers attached to the front and that despite the carnage unfolding, no bodies could be seen amongst the burnt out hulks. He shook his head and bit his lower lip in frustration. _I fucking called it._ Meanwhile to his left, this section of the front was relatively quiet, many of the real batteries bringing their firepower to bear elsewhere. Since he was so close, Aaron could pick out the decoys with ease. They were essentially painted plywood cut outs on wheels or long stakes that one would lower into predug holes in the sand, gaping wounds in the surface that from this height that could be plainly seen. Some were rubber blowup constructs that resembled tanks or artillery guns, tethered by thin strands of nylon strings to keep them from blowing away.

Instinctively, he searched the chaos going on around him for spotters, lowering himself to the point where most of his form was shield from prying eyes by the onion shaped dome of the religious structure. “Enhance my vision Ismenoth.” Aaron muttered under his breath. A twinge of pain behind his eyes made him wince, but his order was obeyed. Ordinarily speaking, the warlock’s sight would help him spot targets from a mile away, even if they were weaving in and out of heavy brush. With the aid of the demonness, not only could he see further out than ever, it was blown up as if someone put two large magnifying glass lens in front of his orbs. What he saw was troubling. Far out into the desert, just out of range of the guns, were tens of thousands of human shaped figures bustling about, some in loose teams that tended to the long snaking black lines of throwaway minesweepers, carrying jerry cans full of fuel, while others were tight knit and in formation, maneuvering around the dunes where yet more lay in wait, shuffling around and behind armored columns and artillery batteries. The long barrels of the guns started to rotate around as the officers got their coordinates from their radiomen. He looked away and towards the center and noticed a large gray cloud above the city proper. When one looked at it quickly, it did appear to be natural in origin, but Divale’s vision allowed him to pierce through that fallacy. What at first glance seemed like a cloud was truly the majority if not the entirety of what remained of the witches, the cannons and missile weapons of snipers and ground attackers and the machine guns of fighters, arranged in V elements at varying heights to provide reconnaissance and layered protection.

“You hear me Master Sergeant Divale?” the voice of Lieutenant Marseilles rang over the communicator.

Aaron replied, “Loud and clear lieutenant.”

A slight pause occurred before Hanna quipped, “I trust you’ve seen what my spotters are already telling me; that the enemy is sending empty cans into the minefield.”

“Indeed.” Aaron answered. “Hopefully with my omniscient observations, we can avoid complete disaster.”

“Given what you said earlier, I’m not surprised that they’re doing this.” Marseilles responded coldly. “However, I am a bit concerned that it is going exactly the way you’ve foreseen, down to the very last detail.”

Divale’s jaw clenched in anger at such an implied insult regarding his loyalty and merely stated through gritted teeth, “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“You should be over here with the rest of us.” Hanna continued, not caring about his feelings on being accused of treachery. “You’re doing no one any good by being over there.”

“This battle will be won or lost on the left.” the warlock curtly countered. “Yes, you’ll get the lion share of glory to be had over there, but that won’t mean a damn if you’re getting shot in the flanks. Here I stand lieutenant and no further will I move.”

“Don’t test me master sergeant.” Marseilles warned. “I’m still your superior officer and you’re a pilot in my unit. As such, in my unit, my word is law and you will get over here immediately.”

“Could you repeat that?” Aaron inquired, fiddling with his communicator so that it send back feedback and garbled his message, “I’m getting some sort of interference here. Can you hear me?”

“I- f-ing see -u.” Hanna’s reply went, hear words chopped up by Divale’s expert tweaking.

“Something my be wrong with my comms. I’ll see about getting another unit and contacting you soon. Divale out.” the warlock stated. After he killed the link he let out an exasperated yell, letting the stress from dealing with his superior go. “Fucking haughty cunt!” he exclaimed, shaking his head.

“As eye opening as that might be, I don’t think that my viewers will appreciate such language.” a familiar voice called from the ground. Aaron looked down in surprise and saw Walter sitting on a stool with a pencil and notepad in his hands.

“With all due respect Mr. Cronkite,” Aaron began, “I think you should get more towards the rear. How the hell did you hear me from down there?”

The correspondent tapped the rear end of the pencil against his left ear and smiled. “My mother’s hearing son.” he answered.

 _While that’s nice, I wish you inherited her common sense in knowing to when to get fuck out of a bad place._ “You really should get out of here.” Divale pressed. “Things are not going to go well over here for much longer.”

A puzzled look came over Walter and he looked around at the gun crews and then the outer dunes from here he sat. After finding nothing amiss, he hailed, “I don’t see anything that would confirm that statement. You sure? They told me that this would be the safest place on the front.”

The warlock nodded enthusiastically. “Trust me my friend, shit’s going to hit the fan very soon.” As if fate wished to paint him as the literal bearer of bad news, a violent crescendo erupted from far away, the sound of fury echoing up and over the minaret. It was so intense that it startled Cronkite into falling out of his seat, landing on the sand with a ‘umph’. Aaron’s hearing triangulated the origin point and his heart sank to his toes upon determining that it was artillery fire that wasn’t friendly. He was about to look towards the center and right flank when he caught an almost subliminal wail in the air. A flashback of Balaton started to manifest, threatening to freeze him in place, but he stifled it down and instead dove down hard towards the toppled reporter. “Incoming fire! Get down!” he cried as he reached out and grabbed the now terrified body of Walter. The shrieking grew louder and louder and Divale looked frantically for some sort of low lying ground nearby to hide in. About twenty feet away was a empty foxhole with a blow up AA gun tethered inside. Seeing that as their only way out, Aaron flapped his wings and made a beeline for safety. At this point, Cronkite could audibly hear the sounds of impending doom and his face went white as the Pope’s sheets. Nearby guns crews immediately sounded the alarm and started to scrambled for cover or hunker down. The man started to pray loudly and vehemently, but the warlock couldn’t care less. Angling his body, he tucked his wings and fell down into the bottom of the sandbagged dugout, the fine grains ripping his uniform top and getting into every nook and cranny with the prostrate reporter still in his arms. Holding onto Walter tightly, he again unfurled his wings, making a domed shield to protect them both. The move also lacerated the thin rubber body of the decoy, heated air gushing from the wound into his face. _Any moment now._ Louder and louder the sound got until it seemed like it would cause him to go deaf before they struck, bracketing the area with shrapnel and flame. The ground shook with every impact like aftershocks from a massive earthquake. Cronkite stopped reciting biblical verses and covered his ears with both hands.

Aaron maintained his iron grip and sent his brain into overtime in an attempt to process what was happening. Though his wings muffled somewhat the din outside, he could plainly hear the distinctive snap crack of mid air detonations, the sprinkling of thousands of metal pieces of shell, the crumbling and disintegration of stone and wood buildings, the crump of ammunition cooking off as the gun carriages got destroyed, and the cries of the men outside caught in the hell storm. His vision started to fog up as his subconscious tried to alter his state of sight with another, one that had no business being in the here and now. Divale bit his lower lip, his teeth puncturing his flesh. The pain and taste of blood staved off the change. _Don’t need that right now. Ismenoth; keep me focused._ A loud crunching sound close by their position made his eyes dart to the left. Taking a chance, he parted his wings just so that a sliver of light shone through. Nothing but darkness was there as the minaret, all fifty feet worth, was slowly listing, the base wiped out completely by a lucky shot. Knowing that they couldn’t get out of the foxhole in time, Aaron closed the peephole and swallowed hard. _Well isn’t this fucking grand?_

**********************

For one brief moment in time, the soldier was running, both legs churning up sand, trying to find a piece of cover to hide behind. The barrage was still coming down, thick as an Indian monsoon, yet no shrapnel or stray debris shards could hit him. Luck was with him, but alas, all good things eventually run out. His end came without warning and without mercy. In a blink of an eye, what was once a man disappeared in a flash of fire and smoke. Vision blurs due to the fumes, yet prying eyes manage to pick up movement. A heart leaps for joy, thinking that somehow someway he survived. However, the winds of hope are fickle, cheating our expectations and replacing them with harsh realities. Out of the gloom, a pockmarked helmet rolls on through the devastation like a tumbleweed, carrying out it’s previous owner’s last commands before coming to a circling halt like a top after expending all of its momentum.

Marseilles closed her eyes, taking a break from the grisly sight that she’d observed through her binoculars. She had seen this exact same scene play out time and time again to the point where she lost track of the actual number. Regardless of how many lives she saw extinguished in this brutal conflict, her heart and mind never could quash the feelings of sadness. _Friend, stranger, solider, civilian, it doesn’t matter who its is._ _It never goes away. It never gets easier._ She shifted her eyes from the ground and refocused on the front, at least what was left of it. The enemy bombardment had come down like the finger of God on their lines, annihilating vast swathes of fortifications. Many of their batteries had been knocked out, the survivors desperately attempting to counter battery fire the foe. Thankfully, the artillery crews were taking the brunt of the fire, the soldiers manning the trio of trench lines untouched. _But for how much longer will that last?_

She and Rai were up in the air, fully armed and hovering in place roughly three miles above the madness below, watching the endless shelling from the enemy occupied ridge lines of the dunes opposite them. They were in the middle of a small ground attack force, four full squadrons worth all waiting for the command to attack. Radio operators anxiously communicated with command, gathering intelligence and providing real time damage assessments. Their fevered pace and tone annoyed her. _They knew something like this could happen ladies. I’ve seen the probable casualty ratios they drew up weeks ago._ “It’s not like they’re telling them anything they don’t already know.” she muttered angrily in a low voice. Her ears discerned a particular cadence and she turned to see Pottgen fidgeting with her comms so hard that Marseilles thought that the bead got stuck in her ear canal. For the past minute and a half, Raisa had been working it to death, trying desperately to reestablish contact with Aaron. Judging from the look of frustration on her friend’s face, it seemed that her efforts hadn’t yielded any fruit.

“Son of a fucking bitch, come in Master Sergeant Divale! Come in!” Raisa screamed into the speaker. Her outburst sent several nearby pilots into a state of shock and quickly moved away from her. Nothing came back and she grabbed two fistfuls of hair from her head and tugged hard.

Hanna let her vent and came up to her. “I take it no word?” she needlessly asked, coming to a stop.

Pottgen let go, several strands of her hair tagging along for the ride. “Not a fucking thing.” she replied, wiping her hands on the front of her uniform. “It’s like he’s gone dark.” She leaned in and uttered in German, “Wenn ich ihn wiedersehe, wird er dauerhafter in die Dunkelheit zurückkehren, wenn du weißt, was ich meine (If I see him again, he’ll go back into the dark on a more permanent basis if you know what I mean).”

“Sie müssten in der Schlange warten (You’d have to wait in line).” Marseilles stated. Dropping the mother tongue, she then inquired, “What’s going down on the field?”

“Command structure is overburdened with comm traffic even with the additional radio transmitters sent in from India. There’s such a backlog that messages are being received minutes after the initial decision was handed down and I’ve seen runners going back and forth just to speed the process along. It’s like The Great War all over again a generation later.” Raisa explained.

“I wanted an answer, not an excuse.” the lieutenant curtly countered.

“Confirmation is still ongoing and spotty at best, but what has gotten through isn’t painting a rosy picture Hanna. Battery loss on the right is somewhere in the region of twenty six percent and reports coming in below us are figuring to be even higher.” the pilot officer hastily relayed.

“And of the left?” Marsellies queried, looking through the binos again and focusing on the left side.

“Nothing authenticated as of now.” Raisa said, looking at her fellow German witch peer through the glass lenses. Hanna grunted, whether out of displeasure or assent remained to be seen. Looking at the left flank, her eyes widened out of a mixture of confusion and stupefaction. It was plain to all that the area had been shelled hard, but the real damage was nowhere near the front lines and the gun emplacements and defenses were mostly intact. Many of the structures there, the outlying houses and the minaret especially, were leveled. At first, Marseilles smiled for that meant that they had reserves to draw from in case the other flanks needed it, but then the words of the warlock came back to haunt her. _Left folds, we get taken in the rear, path of retreat is cut off, and most of us get killed and the rest serve new masters._ The grin erased itself and she then switched to looking to see if Aaron could be found. Panning right to left, she could see movement from medics and the aforementioned runners that Pottgen spoke of, but nothing of Divale. “You see him at all over there?” the pilot officer ventured.

“Nothing, but it looks like what he said is coming true.” Hanna answered. _Which means that I have an opportunity here to make up for his absence._ She placed her binos back in her carrying case off to her right side and addressed her friend. “Find me a runner to send a message to HQ, now.” Raisa saluted and shouted out for one. Several started to move in and she picked out one with her left hand. The chosen one fell in with the duo while the rest returned to their stations. She was a German sergeant, one of the newest recruits judging by the pale skin with short dirty blond hair and hazel eyes, the bars of her rank unblemished by the sand blasting winds or the bleached out by the blazing sun. “Sergeant.” Marseilles began. “You will deliver a message to HQ. Tell them it is from me personally. Enemy intelligence has been intercepted. The center and right will be attacked soon, but they are only diversionary in nature. They will fall on the left in force and take us in the rear. I strongly urge you to divert reserves to the left to reinforce the left. You remember all that?” The sergeant nodded in the affirmative and the lieutenant dismissed her with a wave of her right hand in the direction of the rear.

Pottgen’s mouth hung open in disbelief and she whizzed over really close to Hanna. “What are you doing?” she hissed with a whisper. “I know you didn’t see anything over there so why are you telling them you did?”

“I believe that Master Sergeant Divale, wherever the hell he is, is correct. We will get hit on the left and with him gone, we and the information he gave us is probably all we have left to salvage this battle and I will not have this be my last hurrah Rai. We’re going to survive and we’re going to win.” Marseilles retorted.

The still flabbergasted pilot officer tried to counter that argument, but was rudely interrupted by nasty bit of feedback, before an all channel message started to play on their communicators, “This is Air Commander Neumann! All units attention! Enemy ground units sighted entering the minefield! Engage and destroy immediately! All reserves to the skies and report to your positions! Neumann out!”

The pair looked out over the horizon and saw the incoming doom approaching, not so much as reaching for binoculars for they didn’t need them. It started as a loud rumble, an earthquake of roaring engines and raucous cheers, followed quickly by a massive smoke cloud, foul and black as soot rising into the sky. Thin objects started to peek up over the ridge lines among the dunes, battle standards depicting the enemy’s heraldry, a crimson red dodecahedron on a blue background, fluttering in the wind, thousands of them stretching for miles. Then, the tallest of the foe crested the top, Cataphractii, their twin barrels panning from right to left , searching for targets. They were followed by echelons of Strategos with their Legionary followers in tow. Last, but certainly not least, the human element made themselves known. A veritable horde of humanity charged up and over, a sea of ebony falling in alongside the Neuroi, rank after rank of infantry wearing red and black uniforms and scores of tanks with their former allegiances chipped off or blotted out with white paint. A truly unnerving sight, but still, this was not the end. Sections parted allowing more vehicles to pass through, armored cars that could cover great distances quickly. Such an inclusion appeared out of place, until one noticed that there was a very good reason to have them present. Attached to the fronts and sides of the vehicles by way of long looping taut ropes, chains, or brutally bolted on were people, stripped from the waist up. Even from this height, all the witches could see the men and women had suffered greatly in the hands of their captors, their bodies wracked with bruises and scars, some of them quite fresh, clearly dehydrated, and crying out in pain, pleading for it to stop, to their torment end. A majority of what she had learned of ancient history in her youth at school was long forgotten, victims of inattentiveness and rebelliousness, but from what little Marseilles could remember, there was a little snippet about the Mongols. Every year before the harsh winters of the steppes they called their home, they would organize a nerge, a massive hunting party numbering in the tens of thousands with dogs in their midst who would arrange themselves in a long line and then ride forward, driving everything and anything before them, beast, man, even bugs. This continued until they had created a dense pocket that nothing could get out of. No one was allowed to commence shooting until the Khan himself fired the first arrow. Then and only then, did the killing start, a slaughter that would last for days, weeks, even months at a time until the Khan ordered it to halt so that the last creatures alive would go free and repopulate the now depleted herds.

 _If they indeed do have such a leader, I humble doubt that we would be granted that mercy. None will be spared if we are defeated here._ Marseilles turned to Raisa who nodded and whipped around to address the rest of the pilots. “Let’s ride!” she bellowed. Instantly, Strikers were taken out of hover mode and the thrum of the engines sent forth a clear message to the enemy, a scream of defiance: We are not afraid and we will not go quietly. It jarred the forces arrayed against them to action, the mass advancing at the quick step, looking like a colony of ants emerging from their tunnels to defend their home from invaders.

“All craft on me!” Hanna ordered over her comms. “Assume battle formations! Climb to twenty thousand and commence your attack runs! Take your targets and rendezvous at Rally Point Epsilon! Point out AA when you see it so our friends can take them out!” As one, her host climbed into the skies, squadrons merging into their familiar Vs. Upon reaching the aforementioned altitude, the barrage started again, this time targeting behind the front lines, cratering the city of Alexandria itself, pounding thousands of years of history into dust and pebbles. The lieutenant didn’t think on that fact for her eyes were needed elsewhere. She paid attention to the formation, yet only with the peripheral, trying to see if the reserves had fully launched. Off in the distance, witches were speeding out, vertically and horizontally out of their hangers as fast as they could, the bodies of the pilots little more than size of pepper flakes in a shaker at this distance. _The order came too late. We’re not going to have enough to really slow them down to the point where our forces can counter their advance effectively._ Suddenly, what remained of the Allied batteries opened up, shell tracers streaking bright white gold through the air. While the enemy plodded along with the intention of using their numerical superiority to demoralize them into submission, their deep lines made it virtually impossible from them to miss, even at extreme ranges. As to be expected, the results were devastating. High caliber ordinance fell into their ranks and detonated, wiping out dozens. Bodies of Neuroi and man alike flew into the air like paper dolls in a hurricane, blood and death shards commingling into a mines worth of shiny crimson gems. Cheers erupted from the throats of the squadron, but Pottgen and Marseilles maintained a stoic silence. Despite depleting the enemy’s total manpower pool, for each gap their artillery made, it filled back up within a heartbeat, as if it never existed as all.

Hanna swallowed deep and pulled the bolt back to her MG34. As she did so, her left elbow grazed the top of her sidearm, a yellow M1934 pistol with a silver star on the left side of the grip, given to her personally by the president of the Beretta company himself. Dubbed ‘The Marseilles Special’, it was unique in the sense that instead of having only a seven shot capacity and firing .380 ACP, the manufacturer rebored the barrel to take 9mm Parabellum and extended the magazine well to contain eight. According to the company president, there was no other pistol like it in the world. _Truly one of a kind, just like me._ “All fighters accounted for.” Raisa called out.

“All craft, follow me!” Marseilles ordered and revved her Strikers hard, diving fast towards the hard deck. Fellow witches from three nations fell in behind her, Pottgen by her side, and soon the speed of the descent and the wind resistance created a shrill whine. The enemy kept right on trudging along under cover by their artillery, but they didn’t go unnoticed. One Cataphractii appeared to motion upwards with its cannons, prompting Neuroi and human to look upwards and take aim. _So you are playing the part of the Khan. How fortunate. That means you get to die first._ The lieutenant aimed down the sights of her machine gun and waited for the target to get bigger and bigger. Cannon tips started to glow baleful red, the tell tale sign that the payloads were nearly ready. Muzzle flashes started to flare up, long range rifles and machine gun fire. _Doesn’t matter now. Considering the speed and angle which we are coming in, they’re just wasting their ammo._ The theory was grand, but the reality proved otherwise as the chiming of shields being struck rang through the air. It annoyed Hanna to no end. _How the fuck trained these pilots?! Don’t they know how to position themselves properly when in formation?!_ It was then that their heavy weapons personnel fired, large caliber cannon shots and rockets sped forth leaving smoking contrails. A half second later, the Neuroi fired in retaliation, the freeming red beams lashing out in all directions. Hanna’s prey, the Cataphractii discharged both its cannons at once, looking to take her down with sheer brute force. However, the lieutenant was ready for it and executed a high g barrel roll, yawing a smidgen to the left. Turning her head to the side and tucking her machine gun close to the chest, she essentially turned into the shot, propelling herself through the middle of the pair. The heat from the weapons instantly caused sweat to break out on her forehead, stray threads on her uniform to ignite, and singed the tips of her hair, leaving tiny pig’s tail like curls.

Her vision blurred a bit due to the temperature, but paid it no mind. _There’s no why given the range between him and me that I wouldn’t be able to see him. I have you now._ Marseilles brought the MG34 up and looked down the sights, aiming for the head of the Neuroi who simply stood there, looking for all the world that it was experiencing disbelief in not hitting her. The foe didn’t get much time to lament its miss as she pulled the trigger, releasing a steady stream of bullets. All the shots smacked dead center and the head exploded into white shards. The six legs convulsed, but then went slack as the body finally registered brain death. More gunfire rang out around her as the witches got into range and let loose. Rounds stitched the sand, sending geysers of the stuff into the air or riddled bodies, downing squads at a time. Many of the enemy sought cover, diving to the earth or hiding like the cowards they were behind their Neuroi counterparts for protection, but with so many falling in among them, there was no time to find a place to hide. Smoke and spent shell casings trailed Marseilles as she blazed a path through, twisting, turning, shooting in such a way that it looked rehearsed and mundane as a training exercise. Pottgen, her reliable human adding machine, cleaned up what she didn’t wish to engage, audibly counting her remaining ammo count as she methodically took down target after target. In fact, many witches were finding great success and smiling like crazed lunatics, proud of the damage they were doing. With so many enemies, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. To the lieutenant and the pilot officer it was disheartening for the foe’s lines extended deep into the desert, a tsunami of death sweeping through without a care in world. _It’s like there’s no end to these bastards._

A clicking noise reached Marseilles ears and she realized that she ran her magazine dry. Not wasting time to reload, Hanna pulled up and veered hard right, the g forces buffeting her body. Gritting her teeth she breathed out loudly into her communicator, “Good run ladies! Regroup at Rally Point Epsilon at the double. Pottgen, did anyone see AA out there?!”

Raisa smacked a magazine home and racked the slide to her machine gun without looking, panning across the dunes with her eyes as she applied more throttle to match Hanna’s speed. “I have no visual contact!” she shouted back. “CAS leader, you see AA?!”

A voice answered immediately. “I see- Wait! There they are, moving up seven o clock low! 88’s with Crusader III’s! They look to be packing Bofors and Oerlikons!”

“Get high fast and make yourselves small! Split up!” Marseilles barked over the noise of her Striker engines. Taking a chance, she looked over her left shoulder, zigzagging this way and that, and saw the enemy formations open up, revealing scores of mobile antiaircraft units. Not even needing to squint her eyes to overcome the sun glare off the sand dunes, the silhouette of 88mms, one of many signature weapons that her country produced, was unmistakable. They came by hand, whole crews pushing and positioning themselves by physical force, the rubber wheels making deep depressions in the ground as if the era of horse drawn artillery had never passed. Others were towed by Strategos or heavy gun carriers, obsolete light and medium tanks stripped down to the bare bones chassis and tracks tugging their payloads along like a man walking his skittish dog in the park during a thunderstorm. As for the Crusaders, despite their slow speed, they waltzed up and over the ridge lines and angled their armor so that any random hits would ricochet, pointing their rapid firing cannons at the rapidly shrinking retreating attackers. It was a useless gesture, for the thickness was laughable compared to what was on the field now. Time seemed to sow down to a crawl as Hanna looked on as the guns started to track them. In her mind, she could almost hear the ticks of the gun laying drives as the enemy calculated the range.

As one, the foe opened up on them, flooding the airspace with rounds big around as a football. Marseilles had her shields up and clenched her jaw. _This is were things get bumpy._ Explosions went off all around her and her flight, flak rounds detonating in mid air, sending clouds of black shrapnel everywhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one unfortunate pilot get hit by a solid shot on her upper right side, forcing her to alter her flight path towards the left. Hanna saw the shield take the hit and knew that another blow in that section would almost certainly cause them to fail. That next blow came soon after in the form of a flak burst directly underneath, her entire midsection skewered and ripped apart by the blast. Blood spewed from her mouth and her eyes went up into her head. With no signal from the pilot, the heavily damaged Striker engines stuttered and died, flames erupting within the leg inserts and spreading up. Slowly, the immolated body fell to the earth. Comm traffic was full of transmissions from the pilots around her, ranging from pointing out enemy coordinates to friendly fire teams to outright sobbing at the sight of someone getting knocked out of the sky. She faced forwards again and saw that in the meantime, the reserve squadrons had formed up and were waiting outside the range of the enemy AA at the rendezvous point.

“Lieutenant Marseilles!” Neumann’s voice rang out over the din. “We’re picking up new signals on our radar! Enemy fighters are heading your way on your six o clock high!”

“How many Edytha?” Hanna asked, reloading her machine gun hurriedly.

“We’ve got around twenty squadrons.” the air commander replied. “More are right behind them, but they’re not advancing past the main enemy formations.”

The lieutenant stifled a curse word and ended the exchange with, “Understood. Marseilles out.”

After killing the link, Raisa came up next to her on the left and shook her head. “They’re not going after us wholesale.” she observed. “Ten to one, it’s the greenest coming in now. We engage and down them and they’ll just send in more and more, making us run out of ammo so that we’ll be taken out of the fight.”

 _And then we’ll have no means to defend ourselves if they send in their retrieval units after us._ “We’ve have no choice but to fight them. Our forces need to have air superiority overhead.” Hanna determined.

***************

Walter groaned in pain as he came started to come around. He tried to move his arms up to rub his still closed eyes, but they were impeded by a large coarse surface only a few inches up. Confused, he opened his eyes, only to discover to his horror that it was probably better to have left them shut. Close enough for him to touch with the tip of his outstretched tongue and count the chisel marks was the massive wall of the minaret, tiny hairline cracks along the length of what he could see. Though buried alive under the structure, the sounds of booming guns and explosions could still be heard and he could barely move. Cronkite started to panic, trying to turn his head to see if there was an exit, but to no avail. _I’m alive, but I’m trapped underneath tons of rock! My oxygen will run out soon. I need to get out of here, but does anyone know where I am?!_ Suddenly, he remembered his savior Aaron and he called out, “Master Sergeant! Can you hear me!?”

All Walter heard in reply was a digging sound, that raspy scratching noise that cats make when they rake their claws on wool blankets coming from his right. Practically grinding the side of his head into the sand, the correspondent angled enough to spy out of the corner of his eye Aaron, jamming a razor sharp talon on both his thumbs into and through the sandstone. “You really don’t have to shout Cronkite.” Divale answered sarcastically. “I didn’t exactly go anywhere else in the meantime.”

The reporter looked on in wonder as the warlock casually knifed his way through the dense material like a scythe does wheat. “How are you carving through all that so effortlessly?” he muttered in awe.

“Lots of practice.” Aaron responded with a grunt. He flicked his wrist to get a better angle and added, “You sound alright so I guess that nothing’s too bad with you. Kind of had me worried for a bit. You blacked out when the minaret fell on top of us.”

The man felt relieved to hear of that, but an awful thought crossed his mind and he hastily cried out, “Don’t cut anymore! How do you know if you’re not hacking through a support wall or something?!”

“Listen,” Aaron explained as he continued his work without so much of damn, “I may not be an architect, but I’ve had enough experience with being in collapsed buildings to know what is or isn’t going to get me, and by extension you, flattened like pancakes. Besides, we need to get to the surface. The battle’s still going on and I need to help protect this flank.”

“I still think you’re crazy to believe that they’re going to attack here.” Walter retorted. “It makes no sense from my standpoint.”

Divale then moved both his shoulders up against the wall and started to brace himself to catch the slab as it fell and to push. “With much respect there Uncle Walter, wherever and whoever you got your common sense from, I’d invoke a lemon law of some kind and demand a full refund. I mean, come on man. Why the fuck do you think they shelled his position in the first place if they weren’t going to hit it? Target practice?” he countered. He took a deep breath and exhaled as he pushed up with both hands. With the breaking of stone and the falling of pulverized dust, the entire cutout came loose and fell gently onto his massive shoulders. Unfazed, Aaron grabbed the slab and took a deep breath. Exhaling, he casually flung them to the side of what was now the interior of the minaret. With enough room to sit up, Divale did so and took a quick look up and down the length of the structure. From what he saw, he’d hacked his way into a section of a long winding stairwell, the steps hovering over him like a line of icicles. A few feet to his left was a two square foot window with a metal frame in the shape of a lower case ‘t’, sunlight shining through. The sounds of battle still raged on outside, which wasn’t at all unexpected, but there was something about the nature of the sounds that made Aaron furrow his brow. Straining his ears, the warlock noticed something odd and disturbing at the same time. _The bombardment has lessened significantly._ Know what such a development heralded, he sprang to action, getting on his hunches and shifting around inside the trench to get at Walter. “Grab my hand.” he instructed, offering his left. Cronkite did so, and Divale tugged him along the trench and up and through the hole he made.

Walter dusted himself off and also noticed the unusual calm. “The shelling has stopped.” he observed after spitting out a few stray grains of sand from his mouth.

“Which is the tell tale sign that they’re prepping to assault.” Aaron explained. He shimmied over under the window, a rather difficult journey considering how much he had with him, and took hold of the metal t frame with his right hand. A flick of the wrist later and the iron pieces snapped like twigs, his fingers letting them slip through his palm and onto the stone wall below him, tinkling like someone dropping a wrench onto a concrete floor. Like a meerkat, popping his head out of a hole searching for threats, the warlock did just the same, seeking to glean some notion of what the hell was going on. The first thing he saw was the damage, the entire line pockmarked with craters so deep and wide that they resembled mass grave sites. Entire sections were simply nonexistent, blasted into new formations and shapes. Many of the buildings for a good two hundred feet behind the lines were destroyed, reduced to rubble, some smoking from incendiary rounds. It reminded him of Prague, if that city were in the desert and it pained him. _Such history here too, over two thousand years worth all getting the Neuroi treatment one section at a time._ Scattered amongst the destruction was a mixture of the real and unreal soldiery that manned the defenses. The fake laid on the sand in toothpick sized slivers of wood or long tattered strips of rubber, the tethers holding them in place looking like partially submerged snakes. As for the flesh and blood, a courageous few were hastily erecting machine gun nests and moving the heavy guns and mortars into new locations, the sergeants barking out orders like a dog finding a stray mailman. Many however huddled close together inside of craters and trenches or up against ruined building sides and what remained of sandbags, not moving an inch. From the look on their faces, Aaron could see that some of them were shell shocked, but they were armed and looking out towards the dunes behind him, a sight that gave him a sigh of relief.

 _Glad to see many of them made it through. Will be able to defend a little while at least. Now, how fucked are we going be?_ He turned in the direction where he saw the soldiers looking and nodded grimly. Far off in the distance, but way too close for comfort, was a line of Cataphractii with human sized figures flanking them and panning for targets. At first glance, they looked like Legionarys, but when some began to point with their arms, he could detect fingers. _And Neuroi don’t have fingers._ They were in fact witches, dressed to resemble their erstwhile allies and armed with heavy caliber anti tank cannons and anti aircraft guns, faces hard and uncaring. Along the flanks of their Strikers, Divale could see the chevrons, many of them carrying three to four of those symbols. He crunched the numbers in his head and came to the swift conclusion that he needed to take charge and fast, but he needed to get reinforcements and to get into contact with Lieutenant Marseilles. “You see anything up there son?” Walter ventured from below.

Aaron looked down and saw the war correspondent by the right side of his waist looking up at him like a kitten demanding attention. “I see that you need to stay exactly where you are.” he coldly replied. He removed his Ithaca from its holster and started dropping the bandolier of ammo for it by Walter’s awestruck feet. “What you’ve got is all you’ve got. Make each shot count. If you’re down to your last shell, save it for yourself. I’d really hate to have to kill you the second time.” Divale added, holding the gun out to Cronkite. The man took it and pumped the thing hard, swallowing his burgeoning fear down his throat. “You ever fire a gun in your life?” the warlock asked.

“Yes.” Walter responded, his eyes darting up, but not lingering for long. “My father and I used to hunt in the woods where I grew up. Decent shot too. Course, I’ve never pulled the trigger with a person in my sights.”

“Just imagine them as very human like bears with guns and you should be fine.” Aaron stated nonchalantly and he started to stand up fully as to vault himself up through the window. That choice didn’t pan out very well as the combination of his load out and size gave him no chance at all to get so much as the tips of his shoulders to breach the exit plane. Divale rolled his eyes and muttered angrily, “Come the fuck on!” In frustration, he unfurled his wings and arched them so that as they came out and up, they struck the wall with the force of miniature wrecking balls. His pearlescent appendages went through the stone and cast it up into the air, showering the surrounding area with falling masonry and gritty dirt. It was at that point that the warlock heard a distinctive metallic click a few dozen yards behind him. _Someone cocked a gun._ He whipped his head around face and briefly saw a Japanese officer, a lieutenant judging by the collar studs, level his pistol before he squeezed the trigger. Divale got his left hand up just as the man fired his gun and slapped the bullet away like an annoying housefly, the munition burying itself into the roof of a collapsed building. Bewildered beyond all imagination, the officer dropped his weapon and hastily bowed.

“I’m terribly sorry master sergeant.” he profusely apologized with no sign of an accent. “I honestly thought you were one of them. Forgive me for my mistake.”

“No autopsy, no foul.” Aaron stated politely, putting the man’s anxiety to bed as best as he could. As he vaulted himself out and over the toppled building, he scanned the multitudes who witnessed the act and inquired, “Where’s your commanding officer? I need to speak with him now.”

“Colonel Tanaka was sadly killed during the barrage. Many perished from the other detachments as well. I’m now the highest ranking officer present. Did you come from HQ to relieve me?” the sergeant answered.

At first, Aaron was going to simply say no and explain what he was going to do, but he had a change of heart. “Yes I was. I’m taking control of the situation here. As of right now, you are my personal adjutant. What’s your name?” Aaron quickly replied.

“Yoshio sir.” the man quickly responded, noting the urgency in the warlock’s voice. “What would you have me do?”

Divale picked up two pieces of rubble, both long flat pieces of stone, began to carve something on the top of one with the tip of the other. Within two seconds he was done and handed to Yoshio a series of numbers. “That is my frequency. Set up a private combat channel with everything we have here. Pass the word along however you can. Use it to gather all our remaining forces and concentrate them right here. Get everyone you can, even the medical teams. Where is your radio? I need to send a message for reinforcements.” he ordered.

Upon hearing those orders, Yoshio took the etched stone fragment, turned to a group of his countrymen, and began yelling at them. As on, they spread out and started to pass the word along the length and breadth of the line, except one who went inside a foxhole and pulled out a bulky field radio with both hands. Jogging over so that he wouldn’t have to move very far, Aaron had him set it down and picked up the speaker. Going off of memory, he adjusted the dials and began to speak. “HQ, HQ, do you read me? This is Master Sergeant Divale of the 31st JFS. Over.” Harsh static answered him. _Must be overloaded and going off a pecking order now._ Divale closed his eyes and muttered, “Claritas.” As he uttered the words of the spell, the wire leading from the speaker he held to the radio itself started to glow a bright blue.

Soon the static lessened and he could finally hear a voice on the other end. “Master Sergeant Divale, this is HQ. Lieutenant Marseilles has been trying to reach you for some time now. What’s your sit rep? Over.”

“HQ, I’m currently on the left flank and the have spotted enemy units approaching in force. Requesting immediate reinforcements to drive them back. Over.” Aaron stated.

“Lieutenant Marseilles has foreseen this eventuality and has already placed that order. You should be receiving those reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Hold the line master sergeant. God speed. HQ out.” the man explained. _Well, shit._ The line was cut and Aaron simply let the speaker drop, the metal plunking against the the side. He dismissed the radio man with a wave of his hand and out of the of the corner of his eye started to see the fruits of his assistant’s labor. Whole squads ran up and down the impromptu defense line, squeezing into whatever cover there was to fill in the gaps. Machine gun crews and mortar teams set up shop at irregular intervals in craters and bombed out buildings. He should’ve been dismayed about not seeing anything from the 88mms, but he contented himself with knowing that their original firing positions would still give them a good field of fire.

Yoshio doubled timed it to Aaron who himself was looping back towards the toppled minaret to check on Walter and saluted. “Everything’s been done. All elements are keyed into your frequency and the men are relocating as we speak.” he reported. Divale nodded absentmindedly and continued on his merry way, the sergeant falling in next to him. “Did you get into contact with HQ?” he asked, trying and somewhat failing to keep up with the warlock’s pace.

“I have.” Aaron curtly answered. “My superior has given the go ahead to dispatch reinforcements. ETA fifteen minutes.” With a halfhearted jump, he sprang up onto a section of the structure and gazed out over the horizon. Yoshio didn’t follow, but quickly fished out a pair of binoculars with his right hand and offered them to him without a word. Divale managed a smile of thanks as he took them and peered through the lenses. He wasn’t surprised to see the enemy still approaching swiftly, well into the range of their guns, but a new wrinkle was added to the mix. Just behind the enemy’s front line was a staggered column of tanks, Tiger I’s and Panzer IV’s rumbling up a storm. _A secondary firing line. They’ll point the guns up and lob the shots into us. We’ll have to divert the guns to fire on them or else they’ll move around like chickens with their heads cut off, shooting and scooting as they go. Neutralizing them will be a pain._ Suddenly, a thought crept into his head, an idea that prompted him to take a quick glance over at Yoshio. “Where are the blasting points sergeant?” His adjutant gestured with his left hand at a clump of them, an efficient response. With his question answered, Divale looked back through the lenses and muttered in a low voice, “I think we can not only blunt the advance, but also push this flank hard.”

The right lens started to swirl as Ismenoth made her appearance. “And you know all about pushing hard.” she pointed out with a grin, her teeth winking like ivory. Her smile faded fast like puppy love and she adopted a more serious expression. “Pulling the old ‘Gabriel’s Lantern’ maneuver?”

“Yes,” Aaron admitted, “but unlike him, I’m not diving into several tons of explosives. I need you to relocate them all. Is that going to be a problem?”

“For you, not at all.” the demonness assured. “But when am I going to have control Aaron? I need to work out some stress of mine and what better way to do so than with such a fine man with finer talents.”

“You’ll have your chance soon.” the warlock promised. “Now get the move setup. I have no clue where, but you’ll know when I do.”

“You best keep that promise.” the fiend hissed as her face started to shimmer in and out of reality. “Many a fool I’ve had to punish for breaking their oaths to me. Don’t stamp your invitation.”

“That would entail that a promise to you is worth keeping.” Aaron scoffed at the last second, giving Ismenoth no time to reply before disappearing from sight. Done observing for now, he handed the binos back to Yoshio and ordered, “Fall into line and await further instructions.” He watched the man leave as he opened up a company wide channel on his communicator. “All units attention. This is Master Sergeant Divale of the 31st JFS. I’m taking command of the left flank. Reinforcements are on route within the next fifteen minutes. All anti tank gun crews, concentrate on armor. Artillery will scatter the rest while mortars will root out dense pockets when they seek cover. Keep in constant contact, work as one, and all will sort itself out. Happy hunting folks. Divale out.” 

It was at that point that Walter Cronkite popped his head out of the hole that Divale had made with the shotgun in his hands, eyes darting this way and that like he was a man on the run from the law. The warlock found it hard not to laugh at him given the circumstances, but he really looked out of place on the battlefield. “Where are they coming from?” he asked warily.

Aaron swung his anti tank gun from its strap and reached into the ammo box that he had strapped just underneath his backpack. “Over yonder.” he remarked, pulling out a shell and loading it into the receiver. The massive munition made a click as he inserted it, the clips holding the round in place. _Have to make sure that sand doesn’t get into that slot or this weapon could misfire._ “There’s probably a good seventy five to one hundred thousand men coming around those dunes.”

Walter’s eyes went wide with the news and he looked up in the sky. “Maybe we should get on the line with HQ to see if they could send us some witches for support.” he suggested. Divale was about to say something when the sounds of far off gunfire echoed through the air. It was nothing different from what he was still hearing a ways off, but this seemed to come from above. Tilting his head up, Aaron saw a massive dogfight taking place all along the center and right flanks, a sea of witches locked in mortal struggle, diving, rising, zigzagging, shooting, and dying. He couldn’t hear the shield chimes, but he could see the distinctive blue aura when they got hit. He also saw when they failed and what quickly followed afterwards. It seemed that the combatants had a preternatural sense of locating the weakest ones and concentrated their fire, ignoring all other threats. With that said, the low ends of the totem pole so to speak didn’t last very long, spinning out of control as their Strikers were shot out, trailing black smoke, or convulsing for the briefest of seconds as bullets riddled their bodies before tumbling down to earth like stones from a mountainside. He winced as he saw them land, enemy and ally alike. From such a height, terminal velocity was reached within seconds. Upon impact, the bones shattered like glass and the body’s internal organs were out with a hard pop, coating the sand with crimson viscera. Several orange and red explosions appeared, rocking his senses, engulfing wide areas of the aerial battleground. _Catastrophic Striker failure from impacts. Better than falling several miles up._

“I don’t think we’re getting help from that quarter.” Aaron relayed to Cronkite, his response visually dimming the man’s hopes for survival. “Whether we like it or not, we’re on our own here.”

All zest for life faded from the war correspondent’s being as the very harsh revelation set in. “Are we going to die?” he squeaked out.

Divale looked at the petrified reporter and simply shrugged his shoulders while aiming his weapon out into the desert. “Eventually. Here or somewhere else, doesn’t matter. However, if it is to be, I hope to take as many of the bastards out as possible.” he calmly replied. Using one of his canines, the warlock bit into his inner lip, drawing a few drops of blood. After letting it wash over his tongue, he exhaled sharply, flecks of his vitae speckling the metal of the gun barrel. Upon impact, it started to glow a dull purple as the magic seeped into the mechanisms. Aaron stood absolutely still as he scanned for a target and he found one. Romping over a dune, slightly over two miles away, a Cataphractii could be seen. He curled his lip in disgust at the enemy as he aimed at the things head. “Be very quiet.” he muttered. “I’m hunting rabbits.”

********************

 _Thirty six. Thirty five. Thirty four. Thirty three._ The casings came out fast and furious, but Lieutenant Marseilles kept count of the spent rounds like clockwork as she followed the flight path of her quarry, a double chevron pilot who was doing everything she could to evade her. However, Hanna was the most experienced pilot in all of North Africa and knew just exactly what to do to get the job done. Her bullet stream struck the witch in the back, her shields ringing with the hits like a chorus of bells. She could see them buckle and smiled. _It won’t be long now._ Panicking, the witch turned onto her back, spinning down and away, firing her 20mm Flak 30 anti aircraft gun. The lieutenant anticipated the maneuver and dove down and rose back up, executing a high g scissors as she accelerated away from the incoming fire. In her terror, the enemy witch froze and Marseilles took full advantage. Leveling her machine gun and her emotions, she pulled the trigger. A moment in time passed as the the firing pin went forward and back four more times. Her ears didn’t even register the thunder of gunfire, just the harsh stitching hits as the rounds hit home, going into the lower right leg, then the middle of the hip, then up to the right side of the liver, and culminating in a lethal clavicle shot shattering into dozens of sharp bone fragments that pierced the lungs and heart. A cry of agony emanated from pilots throat, one hastily drowned out by blood and death rattles. The eyes rolled in the back of the head and the Strikers died, the signals no longer reaching the engines.

Turning away from the sight of the witch spinning away and down, Marseilles’ sense of awareness came back with the sound of furious struggle. All around her, heavy caliber gun shots, the streaking of rockets, the freem of Neuroi beams, the clapping bangs of explosions both near and far, it was borderline overwhelming. Her many years of combat came to the fore and Hanna drowned out the din as best as she could, instead focusing her attention on the comm traffic. The airwaves were choked with voices, many of which she couldn’t readily identify. ‘Break right! Break right! They’re behind you!’ ‘All missiles have been fired! I’m out!’ ‘Move ladies! Move! We have to- _hiss_ ’ ‘We lost another one! Two more have just went down!’ ‘Get them out of there!’ All messages painted a bleak picture of what was going on, one made only worse by the surroundings that the German witch found herself in. She was several miles up above the right flank, her pursuit of the bogey taking her outside of the main combat zone by a few thousand feet. It took her out of harms way, but also gave her a clear view of the unfolding battle.

The main enemy force had fought their way through the minefield and had broken the first main trench line on the right flank, leaving a trail of dead and debris in their wake that covered the sand like black mold, the engine fires from ruined vehicles billowing into the sky like an entire manufacturing district of steel mills. Many of the surrounding dunes had been reduced to mole hills or craters and the ridge lines formed by them altered the tactical maneuvers each side undertook. The Allied soldiers were holding on with everything they had, not giving an inch without taking down five foes in turn, forming dense pockets of dogged resistance. However, in this fight, quantity was trumping quality and they were slowly getting pinned down and overwhelmed. Artillery and mortar support were sporadic at best and anti air plus close air support were non existent. Marseilles counted the muzzle flashes on either side and accepted the fact that regardless of how many they killed, the second defense line was going to fall sooner or later. As for the center, the enemy advance had looked to stall out within several hundred feet of the first trench, Neuroi and human alike hiding behind the dead like medieval castle defenders of old trying to hold out against a besieging enemy. More and more black dots moved in, circling around and over the desert attempting to reinforce and draw off incoming fire, but they suffered many casualties before linking up, leaving the whole operation right at square one. However, Hanna’s height gave her a more insightful view of what was really transpiring. Indeed the enemy was sending bodies into a meat grinder to achieve a breakthrough, they sent even more around the firing line towards the right.

As far as the aerial battle was concerned, the melee was quickly devolving into a shoot and scoot exercise, and not in a good way. It had started as a fluid thing, ebbing and flowing like a tide as the foes battered themselves against a wall of lead and explosives. Under her leadership, the probing was beaten back time and time again, with huge losses inflicted on the the enemy witches. However, they just kept coming, unaffected by the sheer magnitude of the slaughter they were being sent into. This determination, or rather single minded stubbornness, was taking its toll on the friendly pilots. Ammunition was predictably running low, despite efforts to curtail waste. Sections of the flight had to be sent down to the surface to scavenge ammo from the recently departed, taking precious manpower from the fight. The incessant firing and jockeying for advantageous positions was creating a dense fog of discharge and contrails that led to mistaken identity and, unfortunate incidents of friendly fire. Several witches were lost this way. And if those two things weren’t bad enough, the effect on morale this butchery was having on them all was beginning to show. _We all thought we’d be fighting the Neuroi, not people, not their fellow countrymen. Some of those folks were their friends at one point. I may be serious when it comes to matters in the air, but if I had to turn my gun against a fellow German or even Rai-_

The thought of her wingman made Marseilles realize that Pottgen wasn’t with her. _I took myself away from her. Oh, God what have I done?_ Quickly, she thumbed the speaker stud on her communicator and hailed, “Rai, do you hear me?! Where are you?! Please respond!”

The sounds of machine gun fire rattled her ears as the message came through. “I’m right where I should be Hanna and I could surely use the help right about now.” Pottgen replied through gritted teeth.

“Hold position!” the lieutenant barked, revving her Striker engines. She sped off back towards the center, weaving left to right at irregular intervals so that AA wouldn’t knock her out of the sky. She kept an eye out for friendlies and found two quickly, both privates, tired and in pain, some of them bandaged up, the wraps stained with blood from minor wounds. “I need you two! Follow me!” she ordered, coming up close to them. Though fatigued, the witches obeyed, but before they could fall in line, a Neuroi beam from below broke through one of the pilot’s shields and into the left arm. It sheared through cloth, flesh, muscle, and bone in an instant, removing the limb neatly at the shoulder, the appendage spinning around as it peeled away from the group. The process was so quick that the woman didn’t even know what happened until she looked down at her stump and began to scream. Then the pain started to register and the shock simply shut her down, the rotors of her Strikers dying as her altitude decreased rapidly. The other witch shouted something and tried to reach out for her, but Hanna grabbed her by the right shoulder, holding her back. “It’s no use. She’s gone.” she explained to her subordinate who was frantically trying to break free. “Even if she was still alive, you go down there to save her, you’ll be a sitting duck for their guns and you’ll both end up box jobs. Let’s go.” The private’s head whipped around with an angry expression to her face, but she allowed herself to be pulled away and rotated to where Marseilles was going without a word of recrimination or protest. With her reluctant partner in tow, the pair moved out. Combing through her memory, Hanna theorized where Rai could still be. _We’re still getting pushed at, but are holding, so probably a few hundred feet away from-_

Then, a familiar shape whizzed through the air, one locked in furious combat with an enemy witch. It was indeed her wingman and friend Raisa Pottgen. She started to aim her machine gun to lend her aid to the fight, but the struggle soon ended in messy fashion. At first, the pilot officer was being tailed by the bogey, a three chevron this time, and came under fire. In response, Pottgen barrel rolled up and slammed on the brakes, bullet crisscrossing the air in front and behind her. The enemy pilot overshot, but before she could get fully ahead, Raisa canceled her barrel roll and did a split in midair. With a simple reflexive command, she killed her left Striker and redirected the lost power into her still functioning right, effectively doubling the output. She shot forward like lightning and drove her left Striker clad leg square into the enemy witch’s back with the force of a wrecking ball. Her foe howled and dropped her weapon, the gun falling to earth, spine curved inwards making her body look like an overdone smile, but Rai wasn’t finished yet. A sharp whine was all the warning there was before the dormant Striker roared back to life, the rotors lacerating the meat and spine, burrowing a hole into the body like a drill bit into a piece of wood, blood flying everywhere. The cries of agony continued for a few moments longer and eventually ended with the Striker going completely through, two halves of what was once a human being splitting apart and tumbling down and away. The sight made the private next to the lieutenant vomit uncontrollably. Her heaving made Raisa realize that she wasn’t alone and she hastily looked up at the duo who had observed her grisly task. “Nice kill. Quick and clean.” Hanna commented.

Pilot officer Pottgen grunted as she wiped a sweat and blood soaked right sleeve over her face in an attempt to get the dead witch’s vitae off her. All it did was smear the stuff, creating a thin layer of shiny crimson that looked like red grease paint. She spat a gobbet of pink saliva from her mouth and remarked, “Nothing quick or clean about this business. There’s no end to these assholes.”

“There’s always a breaking point Rai and you know that.” Hanna harshly reminded her with a pointed finger. “I figured out what they’re doing: They’re pinning us down and redirecting reinforcements toward the right. Are there any more people we can pull off the line?”

“That would entail we have a line.” Raisa countered with a tired laugh as she shouldered her machine gun. “We’ve been sticking it to them for a good while, but we’re not gaining any advantage in doing so. Ammo is running short on all fronts and resupply isn’t coming in as fast as we want.” She cocked an eyebrow and asked, “You suggesting we head off the breakthrough?”

Marseilles answered with a wolfish smile. “We stop them there, we put a massive dent in their morale. They’ve got to be nearing the end over there. So let’s-” she started to explain, but a mortar round that was arcing somewhere else took a stray bullet and detonated right behind them. It wasn’t enough to do any harm to either witch for they kept their shields up, even in the relative bubble of calm they found themselves in, but in regards to their erstwhile companion, she let her guard down at the worst possible time. The explosion engulfed the unfortunate pilot, her body getting shredded by shrapnel and catching alight simultaneously. It should’ve ended her outright, but it didn’t and the woman started wailing like a banshee as the flames licked her skin. Out of mercy, Hanna pulled out her pistol and fired two shots at the heart. Both struck true and the cries died down, but flames kept rising higher despite the body’s fall to the earth. The stink of burning flesh invaded her nostrils mercilessly. “Get on the line with every gun and mortar team we’ve got left and tell them to redirect all their firepower on grid E9. No range finding, no calibration of fuses, no nothing. Full fire for effect. Understand?” she stated while holstering her gun.

Without ceremony, Pottgen keyed in the respective frequencies on her communicator and relayed the order. Likewise, the lieutenant led the way back towards the extreme right, looking over her left shoulder at the mess she was leaving behind. No matter where she looked, her forces were fighting hard and selling their lives dearly. _Taking a big risk here, but if I halt them there and push them back, I’ll be hailed a hero._ No sooner did that thought cross her mind, her comms chirped to life. “Lieutenant Marseilles,” the voice of Neumann rang out, “what’s the status of the battle? Over.”

“The enemy is being held back at the center, but the right is nearing it’s last legs. I’m leading a detachment to push them back and to reclaim the fortifications lost. Over.” Hanna replied.

“Belay that order.” Edytha demanded. “If the enemy already has most of the hard points as you claim they do, you’re better off blowing them up rather than recklessly gambling with your pilot’s lives lieutenant. Stand down and hold position. Over.”

Marseilles rolled her eyes, the only thing she could do to prevent her from blowing up verbally on her superior for taking away her shot at glory. “Understood. Returning to position. Marseilles out.” she uttered. She killed the link and removed her communicator, making doubly sure that no one would be listening in. As Hanna did so, Raisa looked at her with a puzzled expression. The visage lasted for a few seconds before it finally dawned on the pilot officer that there wasn’t going to be a fall back. “It’s too risky to let them have it without a fight. The right marks the thinnest part of our lines. They get through that, it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from the center of Alexandria.”

Pottgen nodded and continued to follow her friend without complaint, though she was expressing all the doubts in the world within herself. _This is a bad idea. We should counter the previous order to divert reinforcements to the left, wait for them to come back, and then go in. So what if they take the defenses? We blow them all to hell and mop up the rest in force. We may be the best, but they’re only two of us Hanna, just fucking two._ It didn’t take long for the pair to get within sight range of the left flank. If things were bad before, it was even worse now. The enemy was flooding over the second line and pushing the third hard, the defenders almost nonexistent. Whatever survivors there were being rooted out with grenades and flamethrowers. Neuroi flanked along straight sections of the trenches, showering the line with crimson beams. The enfilading fire was indiscriminate, taking out friend and foe alike. If they had anything or were even capable of projecting or feeling emotion, Rai theorized that it would most likely be cold indifference.

“Boom and zoom, Pottgen!” the lieutenant yelled, aiming her machine gun at the enemy. “Let’s go!” She spun down and dipped her body, diving hard at high speeds. Raisa did the same and the Strikers started to make their characteristic whine as the wind shear came into play. It didn’t take long for the enemy to hear the sound, many of them looking up at the duo with a combination of terror, sadistic glee, and confusion. Neuroi immediately ceased their operations and began to redirect their weapons skywards to deal with the incoming threat, but their reaction was too slow. Within moments, the German witches got into range and opened fire. Carefully aimed shots found their marks, downing scores of the enemy, the shard clouds obscuring vision. Such a sight had two important side effects. The first was that it threw the foe into a sense of panic, freezing them up and then trying to adapt to the situation, but doing nothing but slowing down or even halting their attacks. Secondly, it gave the beleaguered soldiers still manning the trenches hope and bolstered their resolve, and they rose up as one and counterattacked. Such a reaction took the enemy by surprise and they fell back en masse, save for the pockets of Neuroi that still doggedly held their ground. Beams slashed through the air, but none connected as the best of the last of the 31st JFS pulled up out of their attack run and split up, drawing off the fire. “Make another sweep and get to the surface!” Marseilles screamed while reloading her machine gun. “Eliminate those pockets!”

The pilot officer pulled the bolt back to her weapon once more after reloading and did a quick mental count of how much ammunition she had remaining. _Three hundred rounds left. In those close confines, suppression fire will be key to moving up. Might have to forgo shooting, but I can’t do that. The more we kill before going to ground, the better off we are._ She completed her loop at the same time Hanna did and the two did the exact same thing as they did before, except this time they activated their flaps to gain more agility at lower altitudes. The tactic worked as enemy beams and bullets flew in every single direction except right at them. True, a random ricochet dinged off their shields once in a great while, but nothing substantial. In response, their shots did not miss their marks, bodies being flung backwards or nailed down by the impacts. As they neared the ground, the men in the trenches loyal to their cause cheered. Such a display of affection emboldened Marseilles who could not resist a smile. “To me!” she shouted as she landed on her feet in the defense line. “To me and know victory!”

Such a statement was as contagious as the common cold. “To the Star!” some of the higher ranking soldiers bellowed, their voices carrying over the sounds of battle. “To the Star!” Even those words emanated from the lips of Pottgen. She couldn’t help it as she saw her wingman take immediate control of the chaos and bend it into some semblance of order. The sight filled her with pride and the emotion took over her logic, raising her spirits in a way that no other thing could come close to accomplishing. By the time she landed, killing the Striker engines before moving out as to not damage the rotors while navigating the sand dunes, swarms of Allied men converged on them and hastily arranged themselves into a line, readying themselves for the order to go over the top.

Marseilles slammed herself back first into the roughly dug, blood soaked, corpse stuffed trench lip and looked around. Everywhere, men were copying the gesture, sergeants organizing their unit subsections with speed. Pottgen powerslid next to her and took a moment to soak it all in before turning to to her and nodding. Hanna removed her pistol, holding it in her left hand and pointing upwards, using it as a visual marker for the soldiers to see and follow. It drew their attention and they waited with breathless anticipation. “Men!” Marseilles cried, looking up and down the length of the trench. “Drive these bastards from our lines! Over the top!” With a roar of defiance and fierce determination, a sea of khaki rolled up and over the trench lip and hundreds of feet churned the sand up like a wood chipper does trees. Shots popped off as they sprinted across the grainy no mans land, a three hundred foot expanse pockmarked with craters, dead bodies, and burning hulks of tanks and other vehicles. Suddenly, eclipsing the wave of emotion, a challenge rose up from the ranks of the enemy, and a tidal wave of ebony clawed their way up and over their trenches. Man, witch, and Neuroi alike charged headlong into the fray, discharging their weapons all the while. Both sides endured casualties, bodies falling into the sand in heaps, the survivors vaulting over the dead and wounded, not looking or taking one step back. Hanna looked upon the host and gritted her teeth in preparation for the clash. _This will make or break our fight here. We must drive them back. But are we already too late? Are we past the point of return? What I wouldn’t give for those forces I diverted to the left right now. Hell, as much as I hate admitting it, I’d even share the glory with Aaron._

*******************

Walter stood frozen in place as he saw the enemy soldier, a young man just like himself with eyes filled with unabashed hate, slowly squeeze the trigger to his bayoneted rifle. His vision caused an overload of neural impulses, every fiber of his being metaphorically screaming at him to move, duck and cover, do something anything to get out of the way, but his body refused to budge, deaf and blind to what was transpiring in front of him. Time slowed to a crawl, the war correspondent believing for split second that he could actually hear the creaking of bone and cartilage as the index finger curled and pulled. Then it happened, something within him sparked his right hand to function, meekly placing the shotgun, the one given to him by Aaron, in front of him, an unlikely attempt to stave off the incoming shot with the weapon. Finally, the trigger reached the point of no return and sent the firing pin forward into the bullet. The rifle fired a single shot directly at Cronkite’s heart. His eyes closed on instinct. Walter had never been shot at before much less been shot, but going off of what he heard other soldiers say about it, he wasn’t to thrilled with hearing his own flesh get pierced and torn from the impact or the hellish burning pain that would follow. If worst came to pass, he hoped that the agony would be short lived. “I need a miracle.” he breathed.

Never the luckiest of men, Walter Cronkite got his miracle. As improbable as it sounded even to him, the gift of protection saved his life, catching the bullet square in the side, the force ripping it from his right hand and sending it spinning into the air only to land two feet from him with a powdery ploff. Overjoyed at having been spared with what any devout person would claim as divine intervention, he smiled only to realize with horror two very unfortunate facts. First, he was now unarmed, and secondly, his foe was still there and wasn’t too happy about missing what should’ve been an easy kill shot. The enemy soldier started to roar this high pitched war cry and charged, the bayonet tip winking in the sun. Thankfully, the journalist wised up this time around and he started to scrambled towards the shotgun lying in the sand, but in his haste, he tripped over his own two feet and fell face first. Sand got up in his right eye, blinding him and taking away his depth perception. Louder and louder his foe bellowed, getting closer and closer with every lunging stride. Digging in with his hands and knees, Walter power clawed his way to the weapon and darted his right hand out. His fingers closed around the hand guard and trigger. A quick glance at the soldier rapidly approaching to kill him told him that he didn’t have time to stabilize the shotgun with his other hand, that he’d only have one shot and he’d have to do it with one hand. Screaming, Walter aimed as best as he could and pulled the trigger hard. The shotgun went off and so did the entire right arm and half the throat of the enemy, causing the soldier to spin completely around and topple to the sand, blood jetting out of ruptured arteries and veins. Cronkite didn’t see if he was dead or not because, in his panic, he didn’t set himself right, and when he fired, the recoil knocked him on his ass, but he kept hold of the gun this time.

He blinked as the jolt of pain raced up and down his spine, a big mistake as the sand in his right eye got even more ingrained, tears falling down his face as the body subconsciously tried to clear it out. _Never rub your eye when you get something in it. You only succeed in making it worse._ Suddenly, a firm hand clapped him on the left shoulder and he screeched like a angry bird. Whipping his head around, he was at once relieved and embarrassed upon gazing at the stoic face of Sergeant Yoshio looking him over for injuries. “”Fuck me.” he spat out, getting over his fright in a fit of distemper. “You scared the piss out of me.”

“I wish I had,” the officer commented, making sure that they weren’t in danger of being attacked at this vulnerable moment, “for maybe then your common sense would take up a far greater proportion of your being.” He then helped the journalist to his feet and then shouted in his language at a group of men. His countrymen wasted no time in forming a cordon around the pair. “Let’s get you out of here. This isn’t your fight as you’re a noncombatant.”

Walter guffawed as he was forcibly led back to the fallen minaret that he’d snuck out of to get a good view of the battle. “That’s kinda hard to do when you’re neck deep in it my friend.” he countered, wiping out the stray grains of sand from his breast pockets. As he hastily departed from the scene, Cronkite focused on the ruination he inflicted on the enemy soldier. The body wasn’t moving save for the hair that flicked this way and that with the breeze, the nearby sand stained a dull brick red, binding it together into a silty mud. Expanding from that sight, the battlefield became much more animated. Bodies of men, both complete and in pieces, from both sides littered the ground admist the shell casings and low lying smoke of gunfire and explosives that washed over them like a fog over a Louisiana bayou. Neuroi kept blasting at various hard points along the defense lines while witches weaved in and out of craters and other bits of cover, lashing out with their weapons at anything that remotely moved or looked alive, turning the living and the dead to pulp. Shells from artillery and mortars slammed in and around them all, including the line of tanks in the distance, their forms indistinct from the smoke of engine fumes, cannon discharge, and ignited oil from wrecks. He couldn’t see any of their number around, but going off of the sharp crack of rifles and the heavy thudding of machine guns, there was a sizeable number remaining. The attackers had put everything they had into the fray, but only haphazardly, thinking that the resistance would be so low that it didn’t matter where they advanced from and towards. In the end, the line would break and they would be victorious. _They had us right where they wanted us. We got hit hard and even though the reinforcements should be here within a few minutes, they’d arrive too late to affect the inevitable outcome._ _And it would’ve broken a long time ago if it wasn’t for the warlock._

The thought of Aaron caused him to pan his head this way and that, trying to catch a glimpse of man, and when he did, he halted dead in his tracks as his legs refused to move and his jaw hit the proverbial floor. Off in the desert, a tornado of violence raged with Divale at the epicenter. He was finishing taking down the last man in a squad that he’d ambushed right near the lip of a rather deep crater. With his right palm splayed out, he backhanded the enemy soldier in the chest, knocking him right off his feet and into sand hard and stood over him, ready to deliver the killing blow. A Cataphractii intervened on the opposite side, weapons primed to fire, but the warlock apparently had foreseen this and had already begun to swing his 17 pounder around. Despite the beat down, the man wasn’t dead and tried to get up, but it was far too late. With unearthly calm, Aaron leveled the antitank gun at the Neuroi’s head and fired. This action had two very positive consequences. The shell struck true and blew the core location into smithereens, the Neuroi convulsing once before sagging into the sand and fragmenting into shards, providing a curious bit of contrast with the landscape. Considering how close the butt end of the weapon was to the enemy soldier, the sliding back of the barrel and thus the entire firing apparatus fell like a cycling engine piston into his stomach. The sounds of cracking bone and popping organs was palpable and blood flew out of the man’s mouth, the hit more than fatal.

Aaron’s back end got a touch of crimson, but his eyes were seeking out more targets and he found an armored car, a Daimler Mark II model, the four wheels furrowing the desert with its four wheels as it ground to a halt and started to aim its two pound gun at his position. Without fear, Divale stowed his gun and charged, his wings unfurled and flapping hard, making his long strides cover that much more ground. The vehicle’s driver soon realized the error and the armored car began to reverse, the coaxial machine gun firing away. The bullet plinked off the silvery wings, doing no harm to him as he leapt up into the air and landed squarely on the hood, the suspension depressed so deep that the rear end almost went vertical. In a flash, the drivers hatch opened and a semi scared man emerged with a Sten sub machine gun. His end came swiftly as the warlock shoved his left index, middle finger, and thumb into the soldier’s eyes and mouth. Meaty digits went in and through the orbital cavities and upper part of the mouth, front teeth knocked down a screaming throat and the remains of the the orbs leaking fluid. With no effort at all, Aaron lifted the man out of the car with one arm and used the other to pull two pins of grenades that he still had on his quivering person. Click click went the aluminum rings and he shoved him back inside the compartment without ceremony and slammed the hatch shut. Walter could see lips move as Divale continued to balance himself on the speeding and now rapidly zigzagging Daimler, turning around and folding his wings in a way that made them look like the suction cup of a plunger. After a few seconds, he jumped up, the grenades finally detonating and setting off the ammunition stores, triggering a massive explosion. Physical strength combined with concussive force propelled the warlock up and away for a good three hundred yards, but within easy sight of a pair of witches armed with antiaircraft cannons, tracking his descent and readying to pepper him when he landed.

Aaron continued to fall to the ground, twenty or so yards away from his executioners and for a moment, Cronkite thought that Aaron was going to get reduced to chunks. That mindset changed when he saw him land. Instead of bending the knees to reduced the shock of landing, Divale hit the ground with both legs straightened out and when his toes touched the sand, he miraculously sank deeper and deeper into the rust colored grains before disappearing entirely into the dunes without a trace, not so much as a wrinkle in the sand to mark his passing. Flabbergasted, the witches panned left and right with their bodies and heavy caliber guns in the hopes of ascertaining where we went. What followed was something that the journalist would never forget for as long as he lived. A wing darted out from underneath the sand and took the legs out from one of the women, a burst of shells pouring out of the AA gun as she fell squeezing the trigger. Her friend turned to look at her now prostrate wingman and it ended up being the last thing that she ever saw as Aaron silently rose from the dunes like a mummy emerging from slumber, grabbed hold of her skull, and viciously snapped the neck, rotating it a full 180 degrees so that the still surprised facial features gazed upon him. Death was swift and painless, but the hand holding the weapon spasmed, yanking on the trigger. Divale merely guided the destruction with his right hand as the entire clip emptied into the helpless witch on the ground, the shields chiming and then shattering within moments.

Walter turned away wincing, the sight of the killing unbearable, even for a man that had covered some of the worst aspects of the retreat several months ago. Sergeant Yoshio understood and placed a reassuring arm on his right shoulder, before pulling it back suddenly as something that only he could hear came over the comms. Tilting his head off to the side and listening intently, his eyes lit up with joy and he killed the link. “Master Sergeant Divale.” he eagerly stated. “You have an urgent message. I’m patching it through to you now.”

Aaron heard the words over the last few blasts of the weapon. What was once a human being was now at best looking like a pulped pint of raspberries, the surrounding sand pockmarked with fist sized holes. With the job done, he tossed the dead body in front of him off to the side and shouldered his machine gun, racking the bolt. “This is Master Sergeant Divale of the 31st JFS. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to? Over.”

“This is General Erskine of the British 7th Armored Division.” a very cheery British voice answered. “Sorry for the hold up. There was quite a spot of traffic up the way. So, I hear you got yourself in a bit of bother old chum. Where do you want us? Over.”

 _The reinforcements are here!_ “Get into a fire line and fire everything you got at the enemy forces starting at grids A7 through A8. Focused fire on those two spots and they proceed to a creeping bombardment southwest, driving them back to their tank lines.” Divale demanded, popping off a few shots at some fleeing enemy soldiers.

“And we’ll give them what for all the while.” Erskine commented with glee. A split second went by and he urgently added with confusion. “But what a minute, you’re in that grid reference. Get out of there.”

“You won’t touch me.” Aaron assured, going through the calculations in his head. “You can trust me on that. Proceed with your orders and fire on my command. Divale out.” After he ended that communique, the warlock got back in touch with the Japanese officer. “Relay new firing solutions to our artillery. Grids A7 through A8. Same process as I gave the 7th.” he ordered, killing the link and jettisoning a clip at the same time. As he rammed his last mag home and pulled the bolt back. Then he felt a dull pain behind his eyeballs, an ache that he knew was Ismenoth’s doing, her patience reaching a tipping point. He spat out some blood on the back of his right hand so he could get a flecting surface and asked, “How bad do you want me?”

“More than a famished baby desires a plump lactating nipple.” Ismenoth cooed, as her face materialized on the vitae drops, the red surface and her sallow flesh creating an orange blur around her visage. “The explosives have been planted just as you requested. I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“That you have.” Aaron uttered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _I’m taking an awful risk, but there’s everything to gain from this and we need to drive them back to give us some room._ Opening his eyes, he braced himself for what was to come and solemnly declared, “Id imperium.” He didn’t even get done with curling his lips at the last letter before he felt something burst in his brain, causing him to rock back his head in pain, grunting hard. Moisture began to ooze out of his tear ducts, but he wasn’t crying, he was expelling fast flowing streams of blood, the heat of his own life force scorching his skin more than the sun itself. Some of it ran into his mouth and he immediately spat it out for he could tell that it was spoiled, tainted with the demonness’ foul energies. As crimson poured out something else poured in. It started as a tingling sensation around his throat, like someone grazing his trachea with a feather that quickly spread around his windpipe. Both the carotid and jugular vessels throbbed faster and faster to keep up with the pace of his heart and the sheer strain such sensations were causing him. Divale’s vision began to blur more and more as the seconds ticked by, he started to lose feeling in his extremities, and his ears started to ring so loud that they drowned out his heaving breaths. That was when the the final curtain of the spectacle fell. The countless miles of veins, arteries, and capillaries bulged and expanded as somehow, a thick malevolent substance ran rampant throughout his circulatory system, the feeling of curious warmth spreading around everything that it touched. His last thoughts before his conscious mind became consumed were these few: _It didn’t feel that way last time._

“Enough out of you my sweet sweet pet.” the voice of the fiend declared, seeing the world through a pair of eyes that weren’t her own. “You’ve had a long day. Rest for a bit and let good old Ismenoth take care of you.” She then took in all that this world had to offer to her senses and her breaths became staggered and ragged as her mind was overwhelmed by ecstasy. The smell of blood, sweat, and the acrid tinge of powder discharge from the 17 pounder that lingered like a black chimney soot stain on the front of the bullet torn and sand covered uniform, the lingering pain of exertion in the arms and legs, the minuscule bruises and cuts from countless wounds healing up, the feeling of an eight chambered heart beating fast and furious, the rushing flows of adrenaline and endorphin coursing to every organ, the wind in her hair, the warmth of the sun’s rays, all of this and infinity more besides was orgasm inducing for an entity that had known only enforced bondage for eighteen long years. Another feeling drew her attention downwards and she smiled and marveled at the sight of a male member experiencing an erection. _Mmmm… big._ The roar of guns ended her little peepshow and she looked back out over the dunes to see the enemy host retreating en masse to get away from the creeping barrage that Aaron had ordered. Further beyond, her eyes fell on the armored columns, firing back as dozens fired back just as fast as their counterparts received it. _What valor on their parts. Yet, it is all for naught. Only in the end will they understand their mistake. They should’ve run when they had the chance._ Ismenoth folded her arms and unfurled the wings, the piercing of flesh making her moan. With a few flaps, she was up in the air, giving her a clear view of the slaughter. She was delighted with what was happening. Humans and Neuroi alike existed for one moment and time and didn’t the next, obliterated, extinguished, and annihilated in droves, yet more and more didn’t and they would soon reach the relative safety of their lines. _Or so they think._ Patiently, the demonness waited until they were within pissing range of their remaining forces and said with cruel intentions twinkling in her eyes, “Deitatem.”

****************

“The forces on the left have been repulsed by the reinforcements that have come in.” the four chevron ranked witch reported. “However, we have judged it to be an under strengthened armored division, the British 7th Armored most likely.” Her superior, a 5’3” Japanese witch with an faded gray army cap and uniform, sand worn Land Strikers with five chevrons, the collar and right sleeve bearing a tattered sergeant badge, nodded without gazing at her and looked back through her binoculars at the left flank. Her upper lip curled in contempt as she saw the supposed cream of the crop run like greenhorns from the enemy lines, explosions chasing after them like jackrabbits trying to run down their mates. Her glasses slipped off her nose a tad and she cursed in her native tongue. _Fucking things. It plays hell with my hair._ She pushed them back up on her face, the lenses nearly touching her dark brown eyes, and hastily checked to see if her meticulously pinned, combed, and shampooed locks were disturbed.

“Which would mean that it won’t take very much to dislodge them.” she commented with sense of relief upon finding nothing wrong with her coif. “Order them to reform and charge again, this time with all the tanks at our disposal. This little game ends now.”

The messenger clearly didn’t agree, her mouth and jaw moving around as if she was chewing something tough. “With respect,” she began, “I doubt they would attempt that again so soon. Many units have suffered at the least forty percent casualties.”

“Forty, fifty, one hundred, doesn’t matter.” the sergeant retorted curtly. “Our orders are to take this city and take it we shall.” She leveled her steely gaze at her subordinate and declared with finality, “Execute my command.” Knowing that to resist was futile, the witch gave in. She gave a salute and ran off towards the left flank. Growling with annoyance at having been challenged, she pulled out her map from her front left breast pocket and opened it up. Etched in red and black ink were the relative positions each side had started. Going through the days events, her mind moved the lines to and fro. She nodded approvingly as even with the setback on the left, progress had been made overall. _The center is finally starting to crack and fall back and the right has regained their composure and most of what they lost. It’s just a matter of time now before we sweep them aside and march victorious into Alexandria. Nothing is going to stop us, not even those damned 31_ _st_ _pilots._

Suddenly, a harsh crack from high above and far away could be hear. At first she thought it was a simple flak burst going off and tried to forget it, but something within her was imploring her to look behind her. Curious, she turned around as saw what appeared to be a gathering of low lying black clouds over the left flank. This development puzzled the sergeant and she cocked her eyebrows in confusion. _This is strange. Something like that would indicate rain, but there’s none in the forecast._ That was when the dark wispy mass began to mysteriously get bigger, the edges radiating out like the tentacles of an octopus, stretching out for dozens and soon hundreds of feet all around. Before long, the center of the phenomenon manifested itself, that of an ebony spot the size of a tank, one in the shape of a perfect sphere, generating some sort of unearthly hum that rattled her ear drums. Chills went up her spine as arcs of white lightning shot forth at the desert sands and the quickly darkening sky, the thunder booming louder than any bombardment. As time passed, the thing covered the entirety of the southern limits of the city, choking it with midnight. The dark fell upon the witch as well and her heart turned to ice, her hands letting go of the map, the parchment blown away by the unnatural winds. _What in the hell is happening?!_ Her eyes then caught movement within the core and she quickly got her binoculars out. Looking through them, something indeed was stirring within epicenter, but it was hard to make out due to the shroud. It would start at the edges and work its way across, ridges and depressions traveling this way and that with no regard for rhyme or reason. Instinctively, she analyzed the details, noting two large recesses with a tall mountain like protrusion slightly under and between followed by another concave area, this bigger than the previous two. She furrowed her brow for her mind wasn’t making any sense of it at first, but the revelation came quick and struck without mercy. In horror, she realized that she was gazing at a face, the mouth open in a silent scream.

The terror continued as a lone figure emerged from the gaping maw, a gargantuan being wreathed in flames with wings of some giant fell bat beating the air like thunder with every flap. It was clad in a tunic that went below the feet, covered with cuneiform like runes that glowed all manner of colors, that obscured its full form. The sight made her nauseous and she resisted the urge to vomit. Something writhed like snakes under the cloth and soon two sets of arms appeared, each pale and withered like those of a cadaver, palms open as if in supplication. Again the lightning burned across the heavens, four long bolts striking the splayed appendages. Long bony fingers grabbed hold of the flashes, halting their journey and forming them into long spears that squirmed in a futile effort to break free. It regarded what the witch could only assume was their main lines and hurled the weapons down, like Zeus did unto the Titans from Mount Olympus. They fell onto terra firma and all hell broke lose. The explosion was deafening and the ground under her feet shook as if she was within the throes of an earthquake and it caused a tsunami of sand, debris, and fire, taller than any building she’d ever seen, rampaging through miles and miles of terrain, obliterating all it touched. Then and only then did the witch start to shake in fear, but it wasn’t out of the sight of the doom that scoured the dunes, but that of the figure seemingly tilting its head in her direction and, somehow someway, she swore she could hear a voice, one dark and foreboding, calling out to her, “I see you.”

****************

The first blow broke the nose and knocked out most of the front teeth. A follow up dislocated the jaw and crushed the upper palate inwards. It was certainly enough to cause enough pain to shock a body into unconsciousness, but Marseilles wasn’t taking any chances with the enemy soldier and punched the cranium again and again with her brass knuckle clad right hand. Blood flew everywhere and the man’s cries were terrible to hear, but they fell upon deaf ears. Another strike later and the skull simply couldn’t take the punishment anymore, the bones splitting apart from the impact, gray matter and flesh squelching in between her fingers. Hanna rolled off the dead body and found it hard to get back up. The beat down, though insanely brief, took a lot out her. Her mind was in a fog and the rest of her body ached, but she knew that she had to get up, no matter how exhausted she was or how much it pained her. Despite the valiant charge to retake the defense works, the enemy broke their attempt and drove them back with a counter of their own. What remained of the Allied defenders were firing whatever they could get their hands on, the ammunition of their weapons long since expended. Some soldiers were throwing grenades and stray bayonets they found lying around because that was all they had to defend themselves with. Others forsook any conventional weapon and attacked with digging spades. It was all desperate last stands as far as her eyes could see and she cursed to herself, slamming the back of her head into the blood soaked sand in frustration. _Fucking God damn it! We had them and we let them off the hook! If only we had more men!_ The anger reinvigorated her and she scrambled to her feet, but before she could stabilize herself, a catastrophic detonation scared her limbs into not functioning, the lack of control causing her to plunge her knees back into the desert.

The shock didn’t end there as the earth rumbled underneath her and her thoughts immediately thought about some sort of earthquake. _But that makes no sense. This area isn’t anywhere near any fault lines that I know of._ Her ears picked up the sounds of footsteps and she turned just in time to see another enemy soldier step back over the trench line, his eyes glued to something off to his right, the look on his face full of awe and fright. The lieutenant watched in bewilderment as the man fled as fast as his legs could take him. And he wasn’t alone. Here, there, everywhere up and down the line, the foe turned tail and ran, men, witches, and Neuroi hastily beating an unexpected retreat. No shots rang out from the defenders, the sight of such a thing baffling their senses and rendering their arms inoperable. Marseilles regained her composure and stood up, seeking a way to get out of the trench she was in so that she could catch a glimpse of what was spooking everyone. After sidestepping legions of dead bodies, ruptured sand bags, and ruined guns, she managed to find a path out and trudged her way up to where her head just barely crested the ridge. Hanna had seen all sorts of things in her life during this war, but nothing prepared her for the sheer spectacle that she bore witness to.

What was once desert was now a near solid shaft of black air and fire, swirling and roaring like a tornado five miles wide as sand and all manner or organic and inorganic debris rained down like hail, the impacts sounding like cannon fire while blotting out the sun rays. It looked like the gates of Hell itself had opened up, spilling into the material realm and making a dark sadistic mockery of reality. Her eyes searched this way and that for any sign of life, but what they couldn’t locate, her ears did. Over the din of devastation, she picked up scores of voices screaming in mortal terror. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands of throats bellowing so loud that that it reminded her of a party rally just before election time. Yet there was no reason to celebrate here, no speeches for those wanting a change. Here there was only fear and the torment of lost souls heavy in the winds. Providing the backdrop, the enemy formations were in full flight from the field, from her flank and all the others, a sight that gave the German witch relief. _The battle’s over. We won._ “God help us.” a familiar voice uttered next to her. Surprised, Hanna looked and saw Pottgen right there, her shoulders sagging from fatigue and black powder marks all over her face, looking like a gaggle of moles. Her mood perked up and she stated excitedly, “That had to have been Aaron! Nothing else explains this! He’s alive! I’m sure of it!”

Marseilles was about to make a comment before her communicator crackled to life. “Lieutenant Marseilles,” Neumann called out, her voice nearly drowned out in parts from the static by the explosion cloud, “status report! What is going on out there! Over!”

“The enemy is running.” Hanna relayed. “They’re all running. Suggest vigorous pursuit. We can-”

“Pursuit?!” Edytha cut in, interrupting her subordinate’s train of thought. “We have nothing to pursue them with. We won the battle, but we paid dearly defending this city. That request is denied. What caused that explosion? We can see it from here. Over.”

“Unknown, but I deeply believe that Master Sergeant Divale had something to do with it. Over.” the lieutenant replied.

“He’s alive?!” the air commander exclaimed. “From my understanding, all communication with him ceased for some time before the battle. Have you reestablished contact? Over.”

“Negative, but nothing else seems to make sense. We don’t have anything in our arsenal that could do that much damage and if it were the enemy’s doing, we would’ve taking the blow, not them. Over.” Marseilles answered.

“At this point lieutenant, here are your orders: Deploy LRRPs and have the main front stand down. Then take whoever you find able to aid in investigating the blast zone and relocate Master Sergeant Divale. If he indeed caused it, we’ll need a full deposition from him. Neumann out.” Edytha ordered.

As the link died between the two, Hanna looked over at Raisa and said sincerely, gesturing at the fallout from the explosion, “Just between you, me, and a brick wall, I’m awfully glad the warlock’s on our side.” Pottgen was so taken aback at such frank honest humility that she couldn’t form a reply, instead just halfheartedly nodding as the duo activated their Strikers and flew up into the air. Knowing where she was going, the pilot officer took a cloth from her front right breast pocket and tied it around her mouth. Her friend did the same and fished out two pairs of aviator goggle, tossing one out her. Raisa caught it and placed them over her eyes, taking great care to inspect them before doing so. In the desert, sandstorms could creep up on you without warning and what they now had on was the only true defense they had against them if they ever had to fight in one. While they did indeed have gas masks that could do the job, Marseilles had put the kibosh on receiving them, calling them bulky and ill fitting. _I also remember saying that they restricted ones vision too much, a detail that always seems to get left out._ Her eyes shifted to where they were going and saw that the cloud of sand was dissipating rapidly now that the winds started to pick up and a majority of the grains had fallen. Her brow furrowed as she gazed upon the surface. Though the dunes were usually red, particularly if they were disturbed in any way, the color was much deeper and it reflected much more of the suns light that was struggling to pierce the still thick veil. Closer and closer they came and over the thrum of the Strikers, they both could hear the screaming, punctuated with what sounded like running over breaking ice, the pops of small arms fire, and… _Laughter?_

Hanna absorbed all of this information and gestured to the outer fringes of the still shadowy area. “We’ll land there and proceed inside on foot. Keep your shields up. They enemy was there once and though I doubt anything could’ve survived that blast we can’t take any chances.” she ordered. After getting a nod of agreement from Pottgen, Marseilles leveled out and descended gently, landing softly, panning to and fro with her machine gun. _Hopefully we don’t run into too much trouble down here. I don’t think I have half a clip left._ “You have a full load?” she asked as Rai made earthfall.

“Not quite.” the pilot officer answered, shaking her head in the negative. "Maybe a quarter left.”

The lieutenant cocked her eyebrow in mild surprise. “You actually lost count?” she inquired.

Raisa gave her an annoyed look and stated, “Just because I can keep track of data doesn’t mean I have a photographic memory.”

After that playful jab, Hanna led the way, advancing at the half step and keeping one eye on the ground for obstacles and unexploded mines and the other in front to watch for ambushers. The metal feet of the Strikers sank deep into the sand, the scrish scrish of their footfalls masked by the incessant yelling that seemed to echo all around them. No sooner did they venture fifteen feet into the cloud than did the ground beneath their feet start to crunch and grind underneath their heels. _Glass. The explosion vitrified the sand._ Pieces of debris were close enough to identify, everything from guns, to shell casings, burnt tattered scraps of uniforms, pitted and cored helmets, and large pieces of destroyed vehicles reeking of oil, parts of them being buried again by the sand that fell like coarse rain from the sky. Dark figures loomed large deep within the gloom, their features mostly hidden, but the witches could tell from the shapes that they were tank wrecks and newly created ridgelines that were formed from the fallout. The terrain rose and fell at irregular intervals, reminding one more of highlands rather than an arid zone. Through the closely woven fabric of their face masks, a fetid reek seeped into their nostrils, making them wince at the stench. _What the hell is that smell? It’s like a combination of incense, old motor oil, and fresh urine._ As she was thinking this, the sand changed in consistency, feeling more like the soil at the bottom of a low lying marshland. Curious, she looked down, but could see much due to the haze. Taking a risk, she held up and crouched down. Holding her MG34 in her right hand, she extended with her left downwards, touching the ground. It was absolutely warm to the touch and fully saturated with moisture, a sensation that that confused and unnerved her. Pulling her hand back up, she rubbed the wetness between her fingers, holding it close to her nose, taking a few sniffs. Whatever was there didn’t agree with her sinuses and the lieutenant audibly gagged. The liquid was incredibly thin and just as warm if not warmer than the dunes from which it came, but the more it moved over her fingertips, the thicker it got until it felt like she had glue in her hands. The odor also changed when the properties got altered, going from the pungent potpourri to a more sublime iron like scent. Her mood darkened just as a ray of light shined through the gloom, illuminating her hand. She gasped as she soon saw blood stains. Hanna didn’t want to look down, but her head moved as if it had a mind of its own and her eyes beheld a land that was covered in blood, so much so that the sand couldn’t absorb it all, pools of the stuff steaming as it coagulated.

“Hanna?” Raisa murmured softly next to her, her tone full of fear. Marseilles gazed over at Pottgen who was just as spooked by what she was seeing if not more so. Her lips and right arm trembled in shock as she gestured to something slightly of to their left. Her blue eyes followed the trail and when she came to the end, the lieutenant wished she hadn’t. Most of the sand had fallen, the grainy cloud falling away at long last, revealing scores of tall jagged glass spikes emerging from the sand like cactus, no doubt caused by the intense heat of the blast. However, instead of bearing flowers or fruit, these bore bodies of the enemy, dozens upon dozens of men and women impaled in all manner of horrid ways and shapes, blood still pouring out of them, flowing like sap being tapped from a maple tree. It collected in a pool at the base, one populated by severed heads, dislocated eyeballs, fresh viscera, and ripped out tongues, all looking like lily pads in a pond. More and more kept appearing, spreading out as far and wide as the eyes could see like a forest of death, each just as foul and depraved as the next, clear evidence of a sick and twisted mind. It was barbaric and cruel and Marseilles actually felt pity for them, despite the fact that they tried to kill them.

“I know Rai.” Hanna assured, trying to calm down her frightened friend.

The pilot officer shook her head violently and blurted out, “No! Not that! Listen!”

She focused and her eyes widened in terror. _The screaming… it stopped._ That alone made her skin crawl, not because of the eerie silence that surrounded them, but the fact that they were now the only two people alive. At least that was what she thought until her ears picked up the sounds of rapid footfalls. _Someone’s alive in here and they’re running hard and fast._ Snapping back into reality, she triangulated where the noise was coming from and motioned for Raisa to move low and slow. As much as the thought galled her, the duo took cover near one of the pillars of inhumanity, breathing through their mouth so as to not get overwhelmed with the cloying odor of the deceased. Broken glass commingled with heavy breathing and frantic cursing as whoever it was that was still living and breathing in that hellscape continued to flee as fast as their legs could take them. Listening in, Hanna could tell that it was a woman’s voice. _That means it’s a witch._ She looked over at Rai would nodded, silently affirming that she had come to the same conclusion. _We can’t take any chances. Shoot to kill._ Peering out over the crimson stained glass and dismembered body parts that were starting to swarm with flies, she picked out a lone figure, snaking this way and that admist the unnatural orchard of death. Aiming down the sights, Marseilles counted down from five in her head, timing the move with when the distance between her and the enemy would be the shortest, giving her prey that much less of a chance to escape. _Five, four, three, two, one._ Slowing her breathing and swallowing hard, she took one last glance at the target, making sure that it didn’t sniff her out. It didn’t and she sprang up, finger on the trigger, aiming straight at the enemy. Her finger was about to let loose the remaining shots in her machine gun, but try as she might, the digit wouldn’t budge, for there, in front of her, was a face belonging to a person that she had forced herself to believe had died months earlier.

Five chevrons dotted the flanks of her Strikers, the black uniform ripped and dirty from the sand and blood, the sergeant badge holding on by threads. The vitae was caked so much on the soles of her feet and along the flaps that it easily added on five pounds of, forgive the expression, dead weight. Sweat ran in rivers down her face, the once expertly sculpted hairdo disheveled beyond repair, and the brown eyes were wide with fear. The jump scared her into stopping dead in her tracks, and her empty hands rose up and rested near her chest out of instinct. However, her behavior changed when she seemed to recognize the lieutenant. “Hanna?” she whispered.

“Ruko?” Marseilles squeaked back, scarcely able to believe it. Then, behind her old squadron member, something erupted from the earth, and a huge creature made it’s presence onto the ruined battlefield, making another cloud within a cloud, this one much darker. The swirling sands caused Hanna to look away to protect herself for but a moment and when she looked again, the sight left her breathless. Before her was a towering behemoth, taller than a tank was long, clad with a hooded robe made from dark sack cloth, whole bloody faces of the slain affixed with bayonets and grenade pins along the length and breadth of the heavily runed fabric that featured every conceivable color under the sun. Two long pasty emaciated arms held the witch fast with a vise like grip, the nails long and sharp making any attempt to escape a venture that would only end in self inflicted pain. Above those appendages, two more hovered still further up the torso. The left simply rested at the side, its purpose undefined, while the other held the upper shaft of a long sinister looking trident made from black steel. A ruined ship made up the tines, split into three parts by the massive tentacles of a kraken, the fore and mizzen masts at either end with the main forming the center, their sails torn off by the sea creature whose body spiraled down the head of the weapon and into a swirling maelstrom that made up the entirety of the shaft. Within the waters, one could see bodies being dragged down, victims of the monster, flailing their arms and legs and screaming in terror. Much of the surface was raised and when one squinted, they could see that there were tiny shark teeth that followed the current all the way down. The mysterious stranger’s hand apparently slid on some of them and some of his blood oozed down, the rivulets running and filling in the indentations, some of the vitae finding purchase in the faces of the numerous drowned dead, making their eyes and mouth glow crimson.

“No!” Ruko yelled, trying to wiggle her way out of harms way, but to no avail, kicking and twisting to where Hanna thought she would break both her arms.

The cloaked face within the hood regarded her and a voice boomed, “ You’re one determined little rabbit aren’t you?”

Marseilles had a knack for matching people with faces and voices and this was no different. “Master Sergeant Divale?” she asked, backing away a few steps.

The figure answered her by taking its left hand and removing the hood, revealing the face. It was indeed Aaron, as she expected, but what she didn’t plan for was that his visage had altered considerably to where even she had to do a double take. His flesh was pale, almost like snow and the veins in the head and neck bulged. The warlocks hair was slicked back, held in place by a combination of blood and rendered fat. The eyes had changed as well, going from bronze to pure pitch black, no evidence of a pupil or iris at all, lifeless orbs that belonged to something that should not be. Blood, some of it fresh, dribbled out of the corners of his mouth, his tear ducts, nose, and ears, painting his face with his own life force. Such a thing didn’t seem to hurt or hinder him in the slightest and Divale smiled as he nodded, the teeth long and sharp like a vampire’s canines. “Forgive me lieutenant for being silent all this time. As you can see, I’ve had my hands full.” he whimsically explained. Ruko tried again to break free and he applied more force to his grip, causing her to cry out in pain, the legs giving out. “I can make it hurt a lot more if you want.” he warned his hostage.

Knowing that there was no escape, Ruko looked up with tears in her eyes at her former colleague and implored, “Help me Hanna! I need you! Save me!”

Marseilles put on a stern face, the words having the opposite effect. “You should kill her and be done with it.” she stated emphatically, putting aside the friendship as easily as and adult sells toys that they outgrew.

“I really would like that,” the warlock agreed, watching Ruko’s eyes widen in fear at having her death sentence passed, “but I’m very curious as what she could tell us. She is a five chevron after all.”

“They can’t tell you anything past the most basic of things.” Pottgen countered. “As we have said before.”

Undeterred, Aaron leaned forward and reiterated, “And as I have said before, I have ways. As far as I know, this is the first high ranking enemy officer that you’ve captured. The information that she has within her pretty little head is worth investigating.”

“You’re delusional if you think that you can crack them.” Hanna scoffed. “Many have tried and failed.”

“I’m surprised that you’re so willing to throw this opportunity away, considering that we have nothing to lose by trying.” Divale pointed out. “They can’t rescue her, we can’t turn her, and she can’t escape. Besides,” Here he paused, grinning conspiratorially, “when this works, people will hail your decision. You would’ve made our next move that much quicker and cost effective in lives. Quite a story if I say so myself.”

As much as the very idea of someone like him interrogating her former pilot made her uneasy, Marseilles couldn’t help but think about the merits and rewards gained from accepting the proposal, furrowing her brow. Raisa looked at her friend and was shocked that the words were indeed having an effect. She stepped out in front of her and declared, "You can’t be serious Hanna!”

“He raises good points.” the lieutenant coldly acknowledged, mulling over the pros and cons. “We literally have nothing to lose.” She thought it over for a split second more and came to a conclusion. “You may interrogate her, but only after you give Neumann a full deposition.”

Pottgen was about to vehemently protest, but Aaron beat her to the punch. “It will be done.” he replied. Then, he placed his left hand on top of Ruko’s head and wrenched it around so that she faced him. “Now,” he calmly instructed, brandishing his trident close to her face for effect, “you listen very carefully my sweet. I’m going to release you and when I do, you’re going to go with them peacefully and quietly. You so much as even think about running, I’ll rip both your legs off and use them as sand wedges. We clear?” When the witch anxiously nodded, he pushed her away from him hard, the body unceremoniously falling head first into the sand, coming to rest at Marseilles’ feet. Suddenly, he whipped his head around, peering deep into the desert. Hanna looked upon him and wondered if he’d heard something. “I have to go.” the warlock proclaimed, shouldering his trident. “There’s a few more snakes in the grass out there that need to be weeded out. The deposition will be in your hands and on Neumann’s desk before dinner. I’ll see you later.” Without waiting for another word, Divale wrapped the hood back over his head and closed his eyes. “Obscurum.” he intoned, vanishing from sight a moment later, nothing to mark his disappearance save for the two depressions in the sand from where once stood.

The Japanese witch watched all of this and then heard a hammer being drawn back. She gazed back up and saw Marseilles pointing that yellow Beretta right at her, the face drained of emotion. The sight of her once friend and sister in arms turning against her moved her tears and she started crying. “Why don’t you kill me?” she sobbed. “You know it’s useless and you’re going to do it anyway. I thought we were friends.”

“You were never a friend of mine.” Hanna cruelly replied, making Ruko wail even harder. She turned to Rai and ordered, barking over the caterwauling, “Escort her back to HQ and have her watched. I don’t trust her as far as I can see her.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neumann reads the deposition and is not happy about the way a certain warlock conducted his business. However, before a punishment is meted out, the newest general of the Afrika Corps unexpectedly arrives. Upon being informed of the situation, he orders the interrogation of a certain enemy prisoner.

**_ **Chapter IV: Meet The New Boss** _ **

**_ _ **

_I’ve met many leaders throughout this war, and very few could qualify as such. Those that do pass the test have many qualities in common, but out of all those good traits, only one truly matters: The ability make things run smoothly using the least amount of pressure. Far too often, they act like new managers at a business, enacting new codes and regulations, throwing everything needlessly into chaos. The worst come from the rank and file, for they believe, wrongly it turns out, that since they served time in the trenches so to speak that they know how to best get things whipped into better shape. I came from that cesspool and I can tell you that, despite all my successes, I made mistakes when I decided to rock the boat. Will this one be any different?_

Diary Entry April 22nd 1944

Walter Cronkite held the mug of coffee in both hands as Sergeant Yoshio poured a bit of alcohol from his flask into it, topping it off. It stank to high heaven, but he wasn’t going to complain, not after today of all days. Despite being outnumbered, outgunned, and him being in the thick of it, they’d won. _I had to admit, I thought we’re fucked seven ways to Sunday._ Events of the battle played through his mind as the warm cup turned the flesh of his fingers a rosy pink, steam coming off like gunsmoke. Trembling all the way from frayed nerves and shell shock, the journalist brought the mug to his lips and sipped. The bitterness of the java and the bite of what the Japanese officer called sake combined to create a flavor that reminded Walter of gin and tea without the juniper. He kept it down though, not caring a wit about the taste and instead focused his attention on Lieutenant Marseilles and Pilot Officer Pottgen. Hanna and Rai had found him shortly after their meeting with Aaron in the fetal position next to a toppled tower, a structure that the locals called a minaret, his hands shaking like he was stricken by some palsy while muttering incessantly, “The Devil is real and he is here.” Thankfully, he was being tended to by Sergeant Yoshio, keeping him warm and away from anything and anyone that could make the situation worse.

For the past half hour or so, they had been very kind to him, making sure that he got food and something good to drink to calm him down. When he finally got to the point where he was mostly alright, they started asking him questions as to what happened, in particular what Master Sergeant Divale did to help hold the line and later turn the tide. Cronkite had already told them about the events leading up to the battle, obviously leaving out the utterance of the crass pejorative he used to describe Marseilles, as well as how he took out the enemy with skill and exemplary flourish, bravely risking his life to protect others. He admitted that he was no storyteller, but his words enthralled the pair, though each reacted differently. The pilot officer hung on every word and strongly encouraged him to continue with haste while the lieutenant took it all in with such stoicism that you’d think that she was asleep with her eyes open or simply bored with the whole thing. At various times throughout the conversation, she’d politely interrupt him and insinuate that he was retelling the events in a way that seemed over exaggerated. However, the man knew what saw and heard, and when he replied as such, the squadron leader nodded and let him proceed, doing a poor job of masking her annoyance all the while.

“So when the reinforcements arrived and began firing, what happened next?” Raisa inquired.

Walter swallowed hard and took a deep staggered breath, letting them know that he didn’t really want to talk about it., the memories too fresh, too visceral to bear. “He just stood there for a moment, oblivious to the fighting going on and said ‘it impair ian’ I believe. I have no clue what the hell he was talking about. It was all gibberish to me and Yohsio and he’s the most learned person I know.” he explained. A sigh and a long sip from the spiked coffee later he looked deep into the witches eyes. “But after he said that, he just ceased to exist.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hanna pressed, the chronicle finally peaking her interest.

“One second the master sergeant was there, wings unfurled and ready to take on the world, and the next he became something else. He threw his head back and I saw the veins in his head just expand and expand until I thought they were going to burst inside his skull, blood pouring out his eyes, ears, and mouth. Speaking of the eyes, they started to flicker like a dying light bulb, that golden color fading fast. I honestly though that he got shot and was dying. And then he started talking again and it wasn’t his voice, yet it was at the same time.” Cronkite answered.

“Like it sounded off?” Pottgen ventured.

“Probably from the blood coming out of his mouth like you said.” Marseilles deduced. “When people try to talk with a lot of liquid in their mouths, it sounds raspy.”

Walter shook his head violently in the negative. “It sounded very light and soft.” he pointed out. “Almost like a woman’s voice. I swear it on my grandmother’s bones.”

Both Germans gazed at one another with puzzled looks on their faces, a façade that masked their unease at such a revelation. “Go on.” the lieutenant bade.

“Aaron started to act very strangely as if he’d forgotten where he was or what he was doing. There was this curious smile and-” the war correspondent illuminated, but stopped abruptly, unwilling to divulge anymore.

“What you say will only be between us.” Hanna assured with a straight face.

“Well,” Cronkite recounted, “I don’t mean to be crude, but the master sergeant popped wood.” His words triggered a combination of disgust and disbelief and he hastily added, “Then suddenly, he flies up into the air and says something like ‘the atom’ and goes from a man into a monster.” The tremors started again, going from his hands all the way up the arms, drips of the warm drink falling into the sand.

“We met up with him later on, so we know all about what you saw afterwards.” Marseilles stated, not wanting to hear anymore, knowing that to pursue the point would only shatter the reporter’s delicate psyche. _Moreover, we need to get that deposition from him._

Those words shocked the man to the point where he dropped the mug and grabbed hold of the lieutenant by the right arm with both hands and babbled, “You don’t understand! That wasn’t a man that did those things to those people! It was nothing short of the Devil himself, a demon in human form! Mark my words Lieutenant Marseilles; that man is not to be trusted! Get rid of him before it’s too late!” The outburst surprised the witch and she was about to backhand the man before thankfully he came to his senses and let go, his arms dropping to the side.

Sergeant Yoshio quietly yet quickly separated the two parties lest there be a scene. Considering that people were everywhere reclaiming weapons from the field, deploying cas evac teams, loading up bodies of the dead, both friendly and not, and doing general after action routines, it was unlikely that anyone would’ve taken the time to pay attention, but the officer took no chances. “Mr. Cronkite has had a very rough day today.” he stated calmly, seeking to defuse the situation. “I’ll make sure that he’s taken care of.”

“I appreciate it.” Hanna muttered, steaming from such a gross act to her person. After thinking about it for a split second, she added, “See if you can get him to go on sick leave. We can’t have that shell shock present in such a great talent.”

“Of course.” Yoshio replied, knowing full well the true reason behind it. He assumed at that point that he was dismissed and bowed respectfully, intending to turn on his heels and look to the remains of his unit before the pilot officer cleared her throat quite loudly, making him stop and look back at her.

“We need to meet with Master Sergeant Divale, but we haven’t had success in ringing him over the comms. Do you know where he might be found?” Raisa asked.

The sergeant nodded and said, “Yes I do. He’s at the auxiliary medical triage in the town square doing what he does best.”

******************

“Got the secondary tourniquet ready?” Aaron inquired at the orderly who assisted him as he held the scalpel steady in his right. His aide, a young man who probably just as old as he was, looped the thick rubber tube around the arm of the unconscious wounded Japanese pilot on the operating table and started to tie it off, but not enough to stem blood flow. Seeing that everything was now in place, Divale gently went under the crude cloth that served as the improvised means that saved the witch’s life and uttered, “Cutting in 3, 2, 1.” At the end of the countdown, he pulled back his hand, the blade of the instrument severing the fabric with ease just as the aide pulled the new taut. The warlock let the cloth fall to the ground and watched to see if there was any more blood coming out of the wound in the upper left arm, a deep hole from some sort of large caliber gun, that came awfully close to the brachial artery. The bullet had gone clean through, making his job that much easier as that meant he didn’t have to remove anything, but the blood loss was extreme and by the time she was brought in, the poor woman was nearly at deaths door. Through the judicious use of blood packs and a spare handkerchief from his back pocket, Aaron and his helper kept her alive long enough for him to do an examination, pick out any debris from the wound, and do a thorough cleanse of the surrounding tissue. One second went by, then two, then three, and nothing new flowed out of area save for what had to have been there at the start, making Aaron breath a sigh of relief.

“Looks like clots are forming.” the aide observed, just as happy as he was. “I’ll send for the nurse.” The warlock nodded, giving the man silent permission to go. After he left, sidestepping around other doctors and orderlies along the way out, Aaron placed the scalpel back on the tray and checked the woman’s pulse with his right index and middle fingers. _It’s weak, but it’s still there. Hang on. Help is on the way._ He looked around him and saw similar situation occurring all around him with varying degrees of success. The triage, if it could be called that, encompassed the entirety of Alexandria’s market district, the stall owners more than willing to pack up shop for the greater good. Women and children came out of the surrounding buildings with clean cloths for bandages and compresses, long tables to allow for more patients to be operated on, and enough fresh water to fill a lake, handing them out to the overwhelmed medical staff who worked feverishly in the open sun to save as many lives as they could. Some even volunteered their services, acting as runners and caregivers, going so far as to hold the blood packets aloft over their heads as there was a shortage of standing hooks to hang them off of. A certain few took it upon themselves to remove those that didn’t make it, working in teams that took the body away and cleaned up the area before a new patient was admitted. It was something truly marvelous and Aaron more than once had thanked them for their selflessness. Still, despite everything they did, the sheer tide of human misery was unrelenting, the train of wounded yet to be admitted stretching from where he was all the way to the battlefield itself.

It was at that moment that the orderly, whose name he found out to be Hans, returned triumphantly with a witch nurse to took no time in coming over to the table. Extending her hands, she projected her magic outwards at the wound and the holes began to close. “Good work Hans.” Divale commented.

“Thank you master sergeant.” Hans answered, beaming with pride at a job well done. “ Is there anything else you need of me?”

“Yes.” Aaron stated, reaching for the tray. The man watched curiously as he picked up a transfusion kit with his left hand, yet he soon realized why that was. “I need you to roll up your sleeve. Which arm you choose is no difference.”

“But,” Hans protested, waving to the rest of the sea of wounded and dying around them, “I might be needed elsewhere.”

Divale leaned in and said sternly, “When the patient is stable. She’s not out of the woods yet. A lot of blood was lost during that operation and this heat isn’t helping matters. More blood is needed, but I know for certain that those packs are probably close to fresh out.” When he started to offer some other excuse, the warlock lost his patience and grabbed the aide by the collar with his free hand, pulling him towards his face. The sudden movement startled the nurse who momentarily paused in her duties to make sure that she knew when to run away if things got violent. “Do you want her to die?” Aaron queried, his eyes burning a hole in the man. When the orderly shook his head in the negative, the master sergeant continued, “She will die if she doesn’t get blood. I know her type and I saw that it was the same as yours when I gazed at your dog tags. Time is of the essence. Right now, you hold her life in your veins. Do you really want this one to slip away? You honestly think you can carry that weight on your conscience?” Hans looked at the patient, barely clinging to life, and swallowed hard. It told the warlock all he needed to know and he let go, saying as he shoved the gear into the man’s chest, “Then stick it and sit down. You know the drill: Monitor and keep accurate time. Give it an hour and a half, but if you feel alright then go longer, but no more than three. I don’t want you to get woozy out there.”

The nurse resumed her duties and whistled at a nearby local boy who ran at breakneck speed towards them. When he was close enough, she pointed to the orderly who was busying himself with doing what he was told and said a few words in his native language. Nodding in understanding, the youth ran off again and returned just as quickly with tall glass of water right as Hans completed the ground work for the transfusion before piercing one of his veins in his right arm with the needle. With his job done, Aaron turned to walk away, but then felt something grab his left hand. Curious and slightly alarmed, he whipped his head around and saw that the patient had woken up, staring up at him with her dark brown eyes, slightly glazed due to blood loss. She smiled weakly, her grip barely strong enough to hold back a breeze, and said two words that Divale couldn’t understand, but was fairly certain that they meant thank you where she was from. He returned the gesture by looping his long fingers around hers gently giving her left hand a squeeze. “You’re going to be alright.” he uttered, before letting go, looking to see where he could help next.

While doing so, he was amazed that the pilot showed no fear when looking at him for he didn’t bother putting his glasses back on. _Maybe she couldn’t see straight. Probably a blessing considering the shape I’m in._ If an outside observer would’ve deigned to look upon him at that particular moment, the warlock was deeply convinced that the phrase ‘looks that kill’ wouldn’t even come remotely close. He didn’t even bother cleaning himself up from the battle, the blood stains, both his and others, on his face had flaked off or mingled with his sweat, giving his skin a ruddy complexion. The uniform was torn, coated with all manner of substances, the patch indicating his rank hanging on by two stitches. He had unbuttoned it during multiple operations, giving everyone a full view of his sweat soaked undershirt and parts of his scarred chest. Whether it gave them chills or second thoughts in helping him out, he honestly didn’t give a shit. As far as he was concerned, the fact that in the hour and a half he was there, forty incoming wounded had been treated and saved was all that mattered in the end. Ninety minutes of utter focus and treatment of injuries ranging from contusions to concussions, from stress fractures to second degree burns, all the way to partial organ removal to full blown amputation. _And not a single person died under my watch._

The warlock’s peripheral vision caught something out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see both Hanna and Raisa wading through the throng with some difficulty, the faces displaying an combination of emotions that he could tell were satisfaction and confusion. “You look lost.” he called out, his voice booming over the din. “However, if you’re looking for someone who can point you in the right direction, you’ve come to the right place.”

Pottgen ignored the joke and the organized chaotic movement of so many people and remarked, “When Sergeant Yoshio told us that you were over here doing what you did best, we both thought that you’d be tending more to the dead rather than the living.”

Aaron shrugged and countered politely, “I’ve been known to change things up every so often.” He then promptly dropped the good humor altogether and ventured, “What do you need me to do?”

“We need to meet with Neumann at HQ on the double.” Marseilles explained. “Do you have your deposition ready?”

Aaron held up his left hand, index finger extended upwards, to indicate to them to give him a moment. He then snapped his fingers and right in front on him appeared a small folder full of papers with a pen moving feverishly over the front, etching in flowing long hand cursive the words, ‘After Action Report Re: Battle of Alexandria April 22nd 1944 Master Sergeant Aaron Divale 31st JFS’. The witches watched spellbound as the pen finished up and simply fell into Divale’s left breast pocket. As for the folder itself, he merely reached out and took it. He then looked back at the still awed German’s and said, “Let’s go meet the boss.”

*****************

Edytha Neumann carefully placed the last page back into the folder and closed it shut, emphasizing the act by pressing the thick brochure firmly down like her right hand was a stamp of approval. She sighed heavily and removed her glasses, the aluminum frames heavier than lead after perusing the contents of Aaron’s deposition, folding them up and placing them on the desktop. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes and rubbed them with her hands. Before the war, her teachers in school would called her Bücherwurm, (Bookworm) for she always had her nose in a book. She got to know the librarian on a first name basis and would come home every so often with stacks and stacks of books, all waiting to be read. One of her all time favorites was a short story by Edgar Allen Poe called The Masque of the Red Death, where a prince tries to hide away in his castle along with a thousand nobles from a mysterious plague that had been ravaging the land. In the end, during a masquerade ball, a stranger appears and the prince, suspicious of this figure, corners him with a dagger in an attempt to find out who it is. However, he is struck dead at the mere sight of the masked face and when the rest of the guests try to remove the costume and mask, they discover to their horror that there was nothing underneath and suddenly are stricken by the sickness and die en masse. Though it had been years since Neumann read that story, the final line had stuck with her: ‘And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all’.

Much of what she gleaned from the pages within the folder reminded her of that dark tale. _It’s so similar. A stranger that is here yet not at the same time, a mighty gathering of those thinking that they’re safe, a pestilence stalking the land which consumes all, a great slaughter and the laying low of the arrogant and foolish. Like it was almost adapted for wartime serial novels._ The warlock’s description of what he did and when to the enemy was nothing short of utter devastation and pure sadistic fantasy. Some parts made Edytha wrinkle her nose in disgust and her stomach turned over multiple times. _Yet no matter how fantastic the tale told, the facts from the ground reaffirm all of it. What did I bring here?_ Right now, here was the inside of her office and, save for her alone and a veritable mountain of after action reports from the units in the field, utterly empty. She had dismissed the trio when they came insidewith the deposition, letting them go to dinner for they looked hungry and thirsty on the sole condition that they bring something back. For her however, there was no time for refreshment. Neumann was constantly interrupted with staff officers handing in their reports and the press who demanded interviews across the board. Though it was quite the inconvenience, the air commander deftly handled each quandary in turn. _After all, they’re just doing their jobs._ There came a series of knocks at her door, the placement and timing of the raps letting her know that it was Marseilles. “Come on in.” she called out. The wooden slab moved and in walked Hanna and Raisa, each holding a bowl of what the locals called kushari, a dish that as more Italian than anything which contained rice, macaroni, and lentils all topped with a spiced tomato sauce, garlic vinegar, chickpeas, and crispy fried onions. The wondrous smells soon filled the room and it made Edytha’s mouth water. Looking up at the pair, she stated, “You are my heroes.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Aaron’s voice replied as he back stepped past the threshold and moved the door back into place. Once he was done, he turned around and added. “They stuck me with the bill.”

“New recruits always buy the first meals.” Pottgen retorted, doing her best to justify the action. “It’s tradition.”

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, the lieutenant took the bowl of steaming food from the pilot officer and plunked them down on Neumann’s desk. She then produced a fork from her right breast pocket and commented, “Essen ist angerichtet (Dinner is served).” Without ceremony, the famished air commander snatched the utensil and dug, shoveling the kushari into her mouth and wolfing it down as fast as she could. The sauces dribbled down her chin, making little puddles on her desk. Not caring a wit about the mess, Edytha merely wiped her face with the back of her sleeve and continued. Between heaping forkfuls, she looked up periodically at her pilots and was pleased that they looked much better. When they all came into her office the first time, she found it very hard not to reprimand them for their appearance. Not a single one of them had changed their uniforms after the battle, reeking of sweat and powder discharge. Blood stains were everywhere and every time they breathed, grains of sand would fall from their person and litter her swept floor. Out of the three, the master sergeant was the absolute worst, looking like he just finished up making sand angels. _He looked like he was made of the stuff. Took me five full minutes just to get what he left behind cleaned up._ Now, Divale looked like a brand new man, the sand, blood, and stink all gone courtesy of a hot shower. Even his uniform was clean, though Neumann suspected that he tossed out the old and got a new one.

“Vorsicht, Luftkommandant (Careful there air commander),” the warlock cautioned. “du wirst dich krank fühlen, wenn du so schnell isst. (you’ll make yourself sick eating that fast).”

Edytha paused and pointed the fork right at Aaron with a look that made it clear that she wanted him to shut up. Getting the point, he nodded and remained silent watching the spectacle. It reminded him of Amelie when he and Mio found her in France. _Of course, her reason was because there was practically nothing filling. As for the air commander, there’s abundance, but never gets out to enjoy because she works so hard. Very sad really._ Then, it was all over, the sounds of metal scraping porcelain ringing in his ears as Neumann picked up the plate with one hand, brought it as close to her mouth as possible, and skimmed the dish clean. A few seconds later, it was all over, and she placed the plate and the fork down with a look of pure satisfaction, smiling with contentment. “That hit the spot.” she commented, using her sleeve again to wipe her mouth and the splotches of sauce on her desk.

“There’s still one more.” Hanna pointed out, gesturing to the still hot plate remaining.

Edytha put up her hands in mock surrender, the red stain on her sleeve looking like wine. “That will be enough for now. Too much and I’ll think about falling asleep.”

“I take it you don’t get out much to enjoy simple things like this do you?” Divale inquired.

“Not on most days.” Neumann admitted readjusting herself in her chair before leaning in with her hands steepled together. “And certainly not this one.” Taking a quick glance down at the folder and then back at all three of her pilots, Aaron in particular, she then began. “I will preface this by saying that you have, by far, the most in depth, honest, yet easy to follow deposition writing skills that I’ve ever seen Master Sergeant Divale. Not even the best in my entire officer class could reproduce anything of this quality that you’ve given me today. Truly perfect in every way. I fully expect you to write something of great import when this war is over. However, the material contained within is something that I did not expect to find. I understand that you are a very learned man master sergeant, especially in the ways of war. Can you tell me what lessons conflict can teach us?”

 _She’s taking umbrage with what I did. Kind of figured that would be the case._ “Conflict teaches us that war isn’t about a test of armies, but a test of wills.” Aaron answered calmly. “Guns, men, money, intelligence, all of it means nothing if the state utilizing them doesn’t have the guts to do to the other side what the other can’t bring themselves to do to them. War is intrinsically unfair. There will be those who are better suited and those who are not and those who are, are generally convinced that in war, you fight to win, and if that means wanton butchery, so be it.”

The air commander’s eyes flashed and her jaw went rigid. “I respect that answer considering that we find ourselves squaring off with a foe that has no qualms about engaging in total war.” she admitted before driving home the point, “But there needs to be some restraint master sergeant, especially with the press corps here writing and filming everything they see. The folks back home are insulated from such brutality because I make it a point that, if we need to get our hands dirty, we do it behind closed doors. They don’t need to know everything that we do. What you did today is going to be front page news in every country around the world, and it’s going to paint us in a bad light.”

“That it is.” Marseilles agreed with a smug look on her face. “He has tarnished our reputation and deserves to be punished accordingly.”

Raisa seemed to grunt in approval and his superior looked at him and queried, “What do you have to say for yourself master sergeant?”

Divale didn’t even look at the lieutenant and instead crossed his arms over his chest, drawing cocked eyebrows from his counterparts. “Do not mistake for what I have to say as me calling you all out on being ignorant. After all, you all had access to my file and read it. Still, if you knew all about who I am and what I have done throughout my military career, why are we going about this in this way? If you knew you were going to have a problem in dealing with the fallout, then, forgive my language, why in the fuck did you even bring me here for? What did you think was going to happen when you asked for me?” he responded, keeping his voice level. Neumann was about to say something about it, but before she could form a single syllable, she stopped mid thought and looked down and away. Dead silence reigned as the air commander received a message through her ear communicator, one that was broken a moment later by a gasp of surprise, her eyes wide with shock.

“What is it?” Pottgen anxiously pressed. “Is the enemy attacking again?”

A quick raise of the right hand prevented any further questions from the peanut gallery as Edytha continued to listen, cupping her free left hand over the ear piece to make sure that she heard every word. After a bit, she killed the link and muttered incredulously, “I can’t believe it. After all this time.”

“Believe what?” Hanna asked.

“General Stumme’s replacement is on route.” Neumann replied, scarcely able to process the news.

“ETA?” Aaron asked.

Three hard knocks suddenly intruded upon the scene. Though no one knew who it was, they all had a lingering suspicion. Shaking away her disbelief, the air commander sprung into action, instantly snatching the empty plate and shoving into the sand under her feet, making sure that it couldn’t be seen. She also rolled up her sleeves so that the stains wouldn’t show and gestured with her head towards the right side of the room. With due haste, the 31st JFS members assembled in a straight line, Hanna at the front towards the desk, Raisa in the middle, and Aaron bringing up the rear, closest to the door. Once, Neumann got herself ready, she whizzed over and opened the door. At the threshold stood a fairly short man, probably five and half feet tall in his early fifties. His face was clean shaven with a cleft chin, full of energy, and tanned marking him as someone who had been outdoors a lot in his youth. He wore a pair of black leather driving gloves and his gunmetal gray uniform was immaculate, the award around his neck of the Knights Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords, and Diamonds twinkling like a magic talisman in the late afternoon sun. Atop his head, hiding a full head of slicked back dark gray hair, was a black cap with a long brim and gold brocade, his badge of office front and center as well as two additional pairs on the tips of his shoulders and collar. The man nodded respectfully and patiently waited as Edytha fully opened the door and stood to, allowing him room to walk in.

Tipping his hat in thanks before removing it entirely, tucking it under his left arm, he strolled in, acknowledging the trip of pilots in room with a subtle nod. Halfway in, he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air, looking around. “What is that wonderful smell?” he pondered aloud.

Neumann’s face nearly went beet red in embarrassment and she silently cursed herself for not getting rid of both plates. “Oh, that was my dinner general.” she explained, moving towards it with the intention of getting rid of it. “Terribly sorry.”

He put up his hand and replied, “It’s quite alright. My arrival was something of a secret.” The reassurance seemed to have worked and he turned slightly, a puzzled look coming over his face. “It was my understanding that this was Air Commander Neumann’s office. Where is she at this moment?” he asked.

Everyone found it incredibly hard to not blanch at such a faux pas, least of all Edytha, who was pushed to the mental and physical breaking point upon hearing the egregious insult. From where he was standing, Aaron could see that the fingers on the right hand twitched, slowly curling inwards to make a fist and the lower lip got tucked closer to the teeth around the corners, a tell tale sign that she was chewing it. Despite the outward signs of her anger, the warlock had to give credit to his superior for she took the slight in stride. She cleared her throat and illuminated the new general. “She’s right here.”

The effect was almost comical. He swallowed deep and looked down at the ground, the wind taken out of his sails. “I’m deeply sorry Air Commander Neumann. From what I gathered from what my colleagues told me about you, you sounded a lot more…” he began to say, but his voice trailed off as he sought the words.

Edytha finished his sentence with one that seemed most appropriate. “Manly?” she offered.

“It was my misunderstanding.” the general admitted, extending his right hand. “My sincerest apologies.”

“Me too.” Neumann stated, taking the hand and shaking it firmly and sincerely. “When I heard about you coming here, I thought you’d be a bit taller.”

The general chuckled at the inside joke. “Well the Rommel’s were never that tall to begin with.” he added. The pair withdrew their hands and he then focused on Marseilles, Pottgen, and Divale. “And I take it these are your best pilots?”

“Yes General Rommel.” the witch responded, putting the affront behind her. “These three represent the 31st JFS. Left to right, Lieutenant Hanna Justina Marseilles, Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen, and Master Sergeant Aaron Divale.”

“I’ve most certainly heard about the fabled Star of Africa.” Rommel beamed, directing the praise squarely at Hanna who seemed to grow a foot in height at such approval. “And her faithful wingman, making sure that her talents shine bright.” Rai blushed, unused to such congratulations and shuffled her feet. Then, his blue eyes fell upon the warlock and he assessed him up and down. “Now while I knew of the aforementioned pilots, I had no idea that you would be here master sergeant.”

“Like you, my arrival was hush hush.” Aaron pointed out. “Got transferred here less than twenty four hours ago from the 501st.”

So you were England, Dover Castle to be specific.” Rommel mused, his face darkening at the mention of the base. Divale stood there and said nothing, his silence speaking volumes. “A terrible day.” he added.

Aaron nodded, accepting the general’s condolences, though they did little else but bring back Lucretia’s face in his mind seconds before she died in his arms. “Many of those responsible have been dealt with. Those that still remain will receive justice in time.” he stated.

“In time.” Erwin agreed, moving towards the desk and getting behind it, setting his hat down gently.

“If you would like, you can sit there.” Neumann offered. “I’ve been doing that for several hours.”

“So have I.” Rommel countered politely, placing his right hand on top of the seat, using it like a makeshift crutch. “That ride up in the car from Cairo was abysmal and uncomfortable.” He paused and asked, “Speaking of which, we were put into a situation quite like that. What’s the current situation?”

“The enemy attacked us a few hours ago.” Edytha replied, going through the figures in her head as she did so. “Their plan was to hit our center and right, forcing us to commit reinforcements early on to stem the tide, those from the left flank in particular where we had little.”

“They must’ve saw through your ruse.” Rommel deduced. “Even if they believed anything to the contrary, a simple flyby would’ve told them that they’ve been had. Once they saw that, they struck the extreme left am I right?”

“And they hit hard.” Aaron chimed in. “Came at us with some of their best troops.”

“I foresaw what they were doing and sent reinforcements along.” Hanna hastily added, drawing a subtle glance glare from Divale. “Without them, the line would’ve folded.”

“You all certainly sacrificed much and fought hard to deny the enemy a victory. Casualties?” the general inquired.

“Final numbers are yet to be determined.” Raisa responded. “I personally would place the figure well over half.”

“Given ours, the foe must’ve suffered just as much if not more.” Rommel pondered out loud. “However, I don’t think they lashed out with their entire army because they didn’t need to. That was a critical error. They’ve been beaten back.”

“It would be long before they try again, so I’ve given the order to reconstruct-” the air commander began, but the general raised his left hand, bidding her to stop.

“With utmost respect Air Commander Neumann, you must belay that order.” Rommel commanded. “An army is never more vulnerable than immediately after a costly engagement. They are on the run now and we must keep them on the run. We will not sit here, enduring siege after siege until we eventually get overwhelmed.”

“An offensive!” Marseilles exclaimed, giving voice to everyone’s thoughts. “We’re going to send them back to Tunis!”

“But we have nothing to offend them with!” protested Pottgen.

Neumann was about to argue the point as well, before she saw in the general’s blue eyes a slight twinkle, the kind one sees from those who know more than what they’re letting on. Catching it, she stated, “You wouldn’t have come to that decision if you didn’t know that something for us was coming down the pipe.”

Aaron looked at Rommel, seeing what effect such a phrase would have on the man. When the jaw went slack just a tad, he knew just like his superior did that that was the case. “How much and when?” he queried.

Rommel then glared sternly at each person in the room, his mind feverishly at work to gauge whether they could be trusted with such vital information. “Between you, me, and the dead bolt, if that door ever had one to begin with, reinforcements are coming up the Red Sea right now. They’ll be offloaded and sent to Alexandria wholesale. ETA 36 hours, maybe less depending on conditions. Japan has provided another expeditionary force from their newest class, British Commonwealth troops from India, Australia, and Canada are entering the fray, and even Dutch colonials from the East Indies are tagging along for the ride. In all, almost a quarter million, and that’s not including material assets. Moreover, your unit is slated to receive a bevy of pilots that have been taken from existing units or brought out of retirement. Rumor has it that your influx of personnel will include non witch elements.” he explained.

Divale let loose a low whistle while two of the three German witches smiled, knowing just how desperately they need such a boost. Only Rai was skeptical of the whole business, a sentiment that was reflected in her dissent, “That is more than enough to launch an offensive thirty six hours from now General Rommel. They way you make it sound is that it’s going happen very shortly, whether or not we have the capability.”

“Very astute observation.” the general pointed out. “Because that’s exactly what I have in mind.”

“How?” Neumann asked, genuinely curious.

“Regardless of his belief in himself and the men around him, a good general knows that sooner or later, he’s going to suffer a setback. To that end, coordinates of various rendezvous points are disseminated through the upper echelons, areas where they can regroup, reassess, rearm, drop off wounded, etc. Considering the size of the attackers, I’m strongly suspecting five to six locations so that we wouldn’t be able to cripple them entirely. The only question is where.” Rommel illuminated.

It was at that point that Marseilles remembered Ruko and chirped, “General Rommel, I was successful in apprehending a high ranking prisoner. A five chevron, the only one we’ve managed to capture alive.”

Erwin absorbed this new development and turned to Edytha. “Has this information been confirmed?” he inquired.

“Without a doubt.” Neumann confirmed. “If anyone would know that information, it would be the prisoner.”

“And I would be the one to wring them out of her.” Aaron added without mirth, absentmindedly flexing the fingers of his right hand.

Rommel blinked only once before deciding, “Do whatever you must. We need that information ASAP. Dismissed.”

*****************

Gritting her teeth, the prisoner pulled and pulled at the ropes binding her hands and ankles together, the material digging into her skin and gouging it raw. _It’s what they taught you at the academy: The first duty of every solider who’s taken prisoner is to escape for a soldier without purpose isn’t a soldier at all._ She nearly chuckled in derision remembering such things of her former life, that and other fragments of her memories like her family or her homeland. The process of becoming what she now was, ascendance if she recalled correctly, had destroyed much of that, but what she could bring up from the dark recesses of her warped mind was interesting from to time. _Though not those of Marseilles and Pottgen._ Their names knocked the resistance out of her, the harsh rebuke of friendship ringing in her ears. _How could she do that? I served loyally from the very beginning, we all did. What right does she have to throw all that we once had aside like it never mattered?_ Tears welled up again, but she forced them down. “Won’t do any good now.” she muttered softly. “None of it will. Even if I did manage to get out of here, then what?”

Blinking fast several times, Ruko looked around her confines and wondered what in the world they could be, doing her best to take her mind off of how incredibly fucked she was. The moment the warlock returned to his grisly sport, Hanna and Raisa blindfolded her and left her in the custody of the MPs who in turn transported her here, a room full of darkness so complete that she was convinced that God, if there was one, wouldn’t be able to see her. Understandably, they bound her to a wooden chair, making sure the restraints were good and tight. She knew that from the way the legs grated against the hard floor. _Maybe it’s a place where they shoot people like me, doing it in the dark so that the press won’t catch wind of it._

No sooner did the thought cross her mind, than her ears picked up the sound of a switch being turned on. She assumed it was an overhead light fixture and was proved correct as even through the thick blindfold, searing white light could be seen. It didn’t do much to illuminate her immediate surroundings, but it gave her a rough idea of the spatial dimensions of the room. Going off by the reflections the light bulb cast on the fringes of what looked to be several pieces of heavily lacquered furniture, Ruko estimated that it was a probably in the region of forty square feet. Small to be sure, but an efficient small. _You don’t need a whole lot of space to kill someone._ Another detail cropped up, that of the sounds of a door knob beyond the realm of rendering being turned, the metal apparatus grinding against it’s constituent parts. Whether the door was being opened from the front or back was anyone’s guess, but the sergeant assumed it was from behind her. _It wouldn’t make any sense to let your prisoner see your face._ A portal to the outside world opened and two sets of footfalls shuffled around before the door latched again. Despite being visually silenced, Ruko had a very good idea on who they were. Then, the skin on the back of her head was touched by a pair of hand, long fingers working to remove the blindfold. It didn’t take long, and for the first time in probably hours, she could see with her own eyes, not that there was much to observe at first glance for the overhead light made her squint in pain. Slowly, her newly liberated vision adjusted, letting her take her squints away until she could open her eyes fully. In front of her, just outside of the cone of light, was the unmistakable outline of Lieutenant Marseilles, glaring at her with no speck of pity or remorse. “Comfortable?” she asked in a mocking tone.

Ruko said nothing, turning away to the right and looking down, just in time to see the figure of Pilot Officer Pottgen scurrying away and coming to a stop next to Hanna. “Could do with some better accommodations.” she eventually admitted, throwing it right back.

“Cooperate and you will.” a deep voice boomed from the darkness. The hair on the back of the sergeant’s neck stood on end and her eyes widened in mortal terror, for she knew just who’s voice that was. Frantically, she whipped her head left and right to see where he was. _It’s the warlock, but how did he get in the room without me noticing?_ Suddenly a metallic click echoed throughout the room followed by the striking of flint, producing a lone flame hovering close to six feet up in the air, the red, orange, and yellow light reflecting off a pair of glasses and illuminating a large man in a khaki uniform holding a butane lighter in his right hand. In his mouth was a long cigar, the heat burning the end red hot for several seconds before a few quick puffs were taken. Smoke billowed out the nose and mouth and the massive digits on his paw flipped the cap shut. Heavy booted feet traversed the floor and within a heartbeat, the towering form of Aaron Divale could be seen, clouds of fumes hovering around him like fog, his spectacled eyes gazing intently down at her. He took the cigar out of his mouth and added, “Of course, I have no idea how long your better accommodations will last.” Divale’s eyes drifted o her bonds and he made a tut tut sound. “You won’t be needing those.” he declared as his left hand twitched awkwardly. In a flash, her double knotted restraints snapped in two, the pieces falling to the ground.

Ruko couldn’t believe what was happening and simply sat in the chair, too dumbfounded to move while both Hanna and Raisa screamed in unison, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“The hell is she going to do?” Aaron countered, effectively ending the protests. “She’s outnumbered three to one, the whole building is crawling with guards, and the door key is with the head jailer outside the door. Even if she could weasel her way out of this, she’d have to go through me to do it. If last time was any indication, she wouldn’t make it that far.” Nothing came from that and he turned his attention back to Ruko. Divale extended his hand palm open and instructed, “I’m not here to hurt you. Come here.”

The sergeant got up from her chair, her legs wobbly with being locked up in a room with the warlock, and retorted, “Is that what you told my aide before you killed her?”

Aaron thought for a moment and then his face lit up in recognition. “Oh, you mean that four chevron that came at me with a Panzerfaust?” he inquired. “Well, I beg your humble pardon, but it’s not my fault that when I get angry I find an insatiable urge to practice my accordion playing.” As he provided his rather dubious explanation, he mimed playing that instrument, his fingers twitching at odd angles so that the knuckles cracked, drawing a wince from the witch. Still noticing that the prisoner wasn’t moving, the warlock raised his right hand towards the overhead light, taking a hold of the thin metal shade. Ruko looked up as he bent it outwards in all directions, the shaft of luminosity widening by several degrees. “If you don’t want to come to me,” he mused, “then I’ll come to you.”

“I know why you’re here.” the sergeant stated. “It won’t do any good.”

“For the really sensitive stuff perhaps.” Aaron acknowledged. “However, I don’t need you to answer to figure out the truth.” He then cleared his throat and began the interrogation proper. “First off, your name. I take it that Ruko isn’t what’s on your birth certificate?”

The witch shook her head in the negative. “My name is Kitano Furuko. Ruko is a nickname.” she answered.

“Given the interaction between you and Lieutenant Marseilles, I take it that there was a connection, possibly being a former pilot am I right?” Divale inquired.

“I held the rank of sergeant in the 31st JFS. The lieutenant was my superior, a responsibility she took to heart.” Kitano admitted, putting emphasis on the word superior and gazing over at Hanna who glared at her right back, yet said nothing.

“She doesn’t matter to this conversation Sergeant Furuko,” the warlock sternly said, raising his voice an octave, “only you and me. They don’t accept just anybody into that unit. What talents did you have?”

“I was an expert tracker and extremely resourceful.” Furuko explained. “One time, I got lost for three days in the desert, but I managed to find my way back, taking out more than a few pursuing Neuroi along the way.”

 _Using that same peashooter that you tried doing me in with? You’ve got balls._ “That can’t be the only reasons. Being good at what you do means nothing. You have to fit in.” Aaron pointed countered.

“And I did in spades. I kind of fulfilled that voice of reason role, knocking sense into people when things got hard or stressed.” Kitano elaborated.

“Interesting that you should say that,” Divale commented, “for the questions are about to get much harder. It is my belief that you were chosen to lead the enemy army not just due to these qualities that you just described, but your familiarity with your former comrades would cause them to hesitate in attacking you. Lashing out against a stranger is easy for you don’t know them, but when it’s against a friend, your mind intrinsically doesn’t want to do that. Would you agree with me?”

That quandary gave the enemy witch pause and she thought about it for a good few seconds. “I guess so.” she finally agreed. “It does seem to make sense.”

“To that end, you would understand the importance of protecting your ass if things went south, like having points of fallback for resupply, reinforcement, and the like. Did you have them?” Aaron pressed. Before Kitano could answer, he saw her eyes twitch and the mouth opened wide, screams of agony rushing out. Her hands flew up to her face and her legs gave out, collapsing to the floor hard in a heap. The scene made everyone uncomfortable, Divale more so. As he watched the horrific scene play out, blotting the cries from his mind, he feverishly sought to ascertain the cause. _Some sort of mental block etched in the skull, preventing any conscious thoughts about the subject. Or maybe whoever is doing this knows of her capture and can hear what is going on. Hard to say, but I must be cautious. I might have only one shot at this._

Suddenly, the howls of pain stopped and Furuko started breathing hard. No one came to her aid as she recovered from the mental trauma. After a few deep breaths, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself up until she could get into a sitting position. Looking up at Aaron, a small drop of blood came out of her nose and fell to the floor. “I don’t remember.” she said, her voice wracked with hurt. “Please don’t ask questions like that. It will come back again even worse than before. You have no idea how much it hurts, can’t even fathom the pain.”

Divale stood motionless before simply pulling down the front of his uniform and letting her see the scars on chest. “Me and pain have been close intimate friends for a long time Kitano and will continue to be for a long time afterwards.” He let the top down and started again, using a different tactic. “There are a confirmed five or more rendezvous points that are being used by your army, many within flight range but shielded from sight by camo nets or built underground alongside sand dunes. There will be no more questions sergeant because I have all the information I require.” He paused intentionally to see what effect such a statement had on her. Predictably, the witch took a step back in surprise.

“The fuck are you doing!?” Marseilles barked, growing tired of this tediousness.

Raisa was about to say something along the same lines, but stopped herself as the reason behind it became clear. “Oh, I get it now.” she murmured. “You’re gauging information from something other than a simple yes or no.”

Aaron gave her a sly wink and replied, “Psychology is more than going off what your patients tell you. On the contrary, it is what they don’t tell you that speaks louder than any words. Her posture, eye movements, and breathing all point to affirming the information. She hasn’t said a single damn thing, but I know that I’m right.”

An audible gasp came from Ruko, triggering a devious smile from the warlock. “Now that wasn’t so bad telling me what I needed to know now was it?” he mocked.

“We still don’t have the exact locations master sergeant.” Hanna declared. “Ask her where they are.”

“No!” Kitano shouted defiantly. “You can’t make me!”

Aaron sighed and held out his right hand. “Capio Kitano.” The magic took hold in an instant, causing the afflicted witch to freeze up and fly towards him, coming to a stop an arms length away. She tried to get free of the enchantment, but it was no use. It was then that Divale leveled his gaze at her and cleared his throat for the second time. “Don’t make a challenge again me. I’ve made a career of meeting and surpassing every single one. You won’t be that hard to crack.” he intoned. His right wrist opened up, revealing several wispy tendrils that wriggled like the tentacles of a squid. “I guarantee it.”

“This coming from the same person who said they wouldn’t hurt me.” Furuko venomously retorted.

“And I meant it.” Aaron replied sadly. “I honestly don’t want to do this to you Kitano Furuko. For your sake, do the right thing and try to convey the information that we need. You don’t even have to articulate what the numbers are. I can simply inquire as to how many of this digit or that digit there are and we would have it, just in a way that still hides the truth.”

The thought made the sergeant think, but another round of searing pain shot through her brain, making her bellow, the spell preventing her from doing anything to stave off the mental suffering. It didn’t last long, but it was clear that that tactic wouldn’t work. “I can’t.” she mewled, tears falling down her face, knowing what was going to happen next. “You have to believe me, I would tell you in a heartbeat, but I can’t.”

The warlock stood there as still as a statue, his eyes full of pity for the woman, and turned his attention to Hanna. “Your call lieutenant.” he reluctantly uttered.

Marseilles took once last look at her former friend and pilot, callously noting the pleading visage and the tears streaming down her face, and cruelly declared, “Break her. Shatter her into a million pieces master sergeant.”

 _Your own friend. Someone who you once trusted and confided in, betraying you in the worse possible way. How terrible war is._ Aaron nodded, understanding, but not accepting of the order given. Kitano was sobbing uncontrollably now, and he couldn’t blame her one bit. In a show of solidarity and somewhat of a means of apology, he clasped her left hand with his and gave it a squeeze as his other hovered over her face, the tendrils aligning themselves in preparation of the command to begin. With regret dripping from every letter, he stated, “I’m sorry. Sanguisuga.” A split second later, the filaments chewed their way through, doing their work. Pottgen and Marseilles stood far away as possible, away from this arcane act for fear that something might happen to them. The screams they heard inside the cloudy left flank seemed like nothing compared to what they were hearing now coming out of the poor witch, her jaw open impossibly wide to the point where they thought it dislocated. Blood came out of every entry point, the eyes, ears, and nostrils, some of the vitae trickling into the gaping maw, making the yells coarse and gravelly.

Divale knew that it was an unnerving sight, but had no sympathy for his fellow squadron members, instead focusing on the task at hand. He expected the insertion to be easy, it always was, but the moment he started to explore every nook and cranny of her mind, the spell that prevented her from divulging important facts started to pummel the feelers, jolts of pain traveling up his right arm and down his spine, feeling like being electrocuted. Gritting his teeth, the warlock persevered, combing through Kitano’s brain for what he desired. _Going headlong into the fray might be dangerous. Maybe if I hit all areas at once, trying to get them to overextend the protective barriers. That’s a plan. Why not?_ Putting more energy into the spell, the area of effect widened, and Aaron’s mind got flooded with images and sounds. _Immaterial. Where are those coordinates. Come out, come out, wherever you are._ Then, a series of digits appeared, first a few, and then long strings of numbers arranged in an order that he knew was what he sought after. _Jackpot._ Along with the information, the warlock also dredged up particularly vivid memories. One was of Kitano sitting behind someone, combing and styling the hair, another was one of her looking down at a tattered uniform armed with a needle and thread, and finally, one that made him shudder. There was a rapidly unfolding battle going, surrounded by enemies that were piling on top of her, pulling her away. Her voice cries out something and the vision pans to another area of the sky, focusing on Hanna. The lieutenant cocked her head slightly, evidence that she heard her cries, but continued to go along her merry way, oblivious to the plight of her friend. Anger bubbled up within Aaron. _Overextended themselves you say? Bullshit says I you cunt._ He was about to end the enchantment before another memory got plucked out of her subconsciousness, one that had her being laid out on a slab and strapped down, her uniform top ripped away revealing her chest. Off to her left side was a figure clad in dark robes, holding something in it’s hand, a surgical instrument perhaps. The hood moved this way and that, preventing his from seeing the identity of the individual underneath. However, a sliver of the fabric moved up unexpectedly, revealing…

It was a that point that the resistance to his probing activated it’s full potential, the minuscule shocks becoming bolts of lightning that raced through his nervous system and struck his brain, literally causing him to violently fly backwards across the room. The pain was incredible and it nearly made Aaron black out, but thankfully, depending how you viewed it, the wall which he was thrown against made his mind focus on something else instead, nullifying the throbbing ache. Pottgen was the first to run up to him, Marseilles a close second, kneeling down and anxiously calling out, “Are you alright Master Sergeant Divale?!”

She was answered by a deep grunt followed by the sounds of spittle leaving a mouth, the trail of saliva unable to be seen. “Well that gives a new literal meaning to the phrase, ‘system shock’ ”. he commented, pushing himself up off the floor. Both women helped him up until he could stand on his own two feet.

“Did you get the coordinates?” Hanna asked, looking him up and down.

Aaron nodded, but then noticed something that he should’ve picked up on. _I don’t hear anymore screaming. Oh no._ He briskly walked over only to find Sergeant Kitano Furuko, lying flat on her back, stone dead, her mouth locked open in a silent scream, eyes wide and blood shot, and bits of her brain oozing out of her nose. The force and speed at which Divale was flung across the room left him no time to adequately remove the tendrils, resulting in them acting as knives applied to Jello, slicing and dicing through her gray matter. It also had the effect of ending his capio spell, sending her crashing to the ground, further complicating matters. The shaft of light from the overhead swung wildly this way and that, illuminating and obscuring the body at periodic intervals. The German witches eventually ventured upon the scene, saying nothing. The quiet was unbearable and Divale uttered, “Her death would’ve been instantaneous. Probably for the best.”

“No time to feel all sorry for yourself.” Hanna said. “Go with Rai to the HQ and give General Rommel the information. Time is of the essence.” Wasting no time, the master sergeant moved towards the door and knocked hard. As for the pilot officer, she chanced a quick look over her shoulder. She saw her friend and superior crouch down and close the dead witch’s mouth and eyes, a single solitary tear running down her face. Rai didn’t point it out or make a scene in front of Aaron because, deep down, he had no business seeing her cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the general misgivings of Air Commander Neumann, Rommel goes ahead with launching a surprise raid while the enemy is reorganizing. The attack goes off without a hitch until our heroes realize that they had been lured into a trap.

**_ **Chapter V: No Rest For The Wicked** _ **

**_ _ **

_Why the fuck can’t I have a normal day like everybody else?_

Diary Entry July 3rd 1943

The last red pushpin went into the corkwood board and General Rommel took several steps back, right hand on his chin, staring at the locations in deep thought. Once the 31st came back with the coordinates, he and Neumann went right to work at the main HQ, drawing a more than passable map of the surrounding areas west of Alexandria and triangulating the exact positions of each enemy rendezvous point. He was correct in assuming that there were at least five locations, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close they would be to the front lines. Going by the scale at which the map was made with in mind, the closest would be easily thirty five miles away and the furthest not much more than that. _Easily reached in two hours if that._ Once they labeled the coordinates, a pattern began to develop. Each was found to be within a five mile radius, in the shape of a lazy star, a revelation that a once delighted and puzzled the general to no end. _Very risky to have them that close, but in hindsight extremely cunning. If one were attacked somehow, long range guns would shell whoever came up and support units would be there in maybe half an hour at most to drive them off._ Edytha came up next to him on the left, looking over the map. “Makes all the sense in the world to me. Win, lose, or draw, there would’ve been no way that they could’ve been over several hours away. Just amazing that they’re so close together. Makes me wonder how in the hell we didn’t see them earlier. I had numerous patrols go out there several times and they found nothing.” she uttered.

Erwin took a quick glance at the air commander and saw that she was somewhat dejected at what she was seeing. Knowing full well what she was doing, he turned to her and stated, “Very likely they were heavily camouflaged and had thick fighter screens. You made the right choice to look for them, that cannot be denied. The enemy is resourceful and devious. They were born out of deceit and trickery and their tactics match that upbringing. Scouts returning empty handed is not your fault in any way Edytha.” His words seemed to make Neumann feel better about the situation and he then focused his attention on the crowd behind him. Sitting down at the tables were Marseilles, Pottgen, and Divale, eyes glued to the map and minds whirring with activity. Other pilots from various other units that weren’t so heavily engaged were also present. Though they weren’t part of the 31st, Rommel and Neumann agreed that transparency between all units was vital and cordially invited them. Some refused, citing fatigue and wounds, but many came regardless of state, a few arriving with bandaged limbs or on crutches. _Their dedication to their duty will be cited._

“Now that our art class has concluded, we can get to the real business at hand.” he declared, his attempt at a joke met with some chuckles and smiles. He took up a long wooden pointer and began the briefing, Air Commander Neumann by his side. “From the information that we have gathered, we have learned that the enemy has five confirmed fallback locations within forty miles of Alexandria, a few miles east of the city of Al Hammam.” Rommel hovered the tiny stick over the general area and added. “Given the arrangement of the sites, we are under the impression that each will be heavily protected from any sort of attack.”

A hand shot up from the gathering and the general gestured with his free hand. The pilot was helped up by her peers, her right leg bandaged heavily from the knee down, and asked, “Do we have any idea as to what defenses they have General Rommel?”

“Let us ask the one who got that information in the first place.” Erwin replied. He looked over at Aaron and inquired, “Do you have anything to add to the conversation Master Sergeant Divale?”

All eyes shifted to the warlock and whole bodies turned in their chairs to look at him. Divale paid it no mind and answered, “While I was able to get the coordinates with little difficulty, most of the content was sealed off. Whatever magic put that barrier in place, it was effective in screening me from anything remotely pertinent to those sites. However, if it were me in charge, I would assuredly have those places fully armed and operational.”

“As would I master sergeant.” Rommel agreed, bringing the attention back to him, giving the witch who just spoke time to settle back down in her chair. “Not to mention the close proximity to El Alamein could serve as another point of interest.” He then placed the pointer down and looked at each pilot facing him. “We have dealt the enemy a heavy blow today, but we need to keep them on their heels. Reports from Allied HQ do state that we’re to receive reinforcements within the next forty eight hours, but by that time they will have regrouped and moved away. It is imperative that we not become complacent and stagnate on the front or else we’ll eventually be overwhelmed. Hitting these sites will accomplish two very important objectives: Eliminating material assets that could be used against us and lowering morale overall.”

“You surely don’t mean to attack them so soon do you general?” Pottgen queried, drawing a hard elbow in the side from Marseilles.

“We need to seize the momentum.” Rommel explained. “Right now, the foe have all that in spades while we are scraping the bottom of the barrel. I’ve called you all here to not only learn what we have uncovered, but also to prep you all for a full scale aerial attack, one that the enemy will not be expecting.”

Edytha’s eyes widened in shock. _He didn’t discuss that with me at all._ “With great respect General Rommel,” Neumann countered, “while those present weren’t heavily engaged, they still fought and need time to recuperate and assess losses.”

Erwin slowly turned and leveled his gaze at the air commander, the tension in the room going up a few notches. “Do you believe that waiting is the better option Air Commander Neumann?”

“Without question.” Edytha responded, making some in the audience gasp at such dissent. “Until those replacements get here, we’re just as vulnerable as the Neuroi. I request that you rethink this course of action.”

The general stroked his chin with his right hand, eyes never wavering from his counterparts. Watching this all play out from their seats, no one, not even Hanna herself could tell how it was going to play out. _Rommel may have bitten off more than he can chew. Edytha doesn’t just fight against the Neuroi, but also fights for her pilots and he’s finding that out the hard way. The only question is: What is he going do?_ She looked over at Raisa and she was motionless, eyes glued to the action, or in this case inaction. Aaron merely furrowed his brow. “What do you think of this?” the lieutenant whispered over to him.

A quick glance and shoulder shrug from Divale later, he hissed back, “Best case scenario is that there is a compromise, but between you and me, it’s not going to be for the benefit of anyone here.”

Suddenly, Rommel ceased rubbing his chin and nodded. “I do see your point Air Commander Neumann.” he acknowledged. “These pilot have indeed fought hard today and need rest. However, not hitting those sites will haunt us in the long run. The attack will go off, yet I will offer a counter proposal. Instead of choosing the squadrons that will participate in these raids, I’ll leave it to the sole discretion of the squadron leaders themselves if they wish to reengage the enemy.”

Neumann glared back at the general as his reassessment spewed from his lips. _You’re playing right into their pride, using it to get them to do what you want over my veto, making me appear weak. You slippery son of a bitch._ No sooner did she think those thoughts, Hanna jumped up from her seat and proclaimed, “General Rommel, the 31st JFS is at your service.” Her candor opened up the floodgates and Edytha winced inside as a vast majority of the pilots rose from their seats, pledging their services. They then goaded their reticent fellows into accepting the proposal, despite their logical misgivings about the whole ordeal. _Democracy does not and cannot exist in the military._ From her vantage point, her scruples thankfully did not fall on deaf ears. Among the willing and unwilling, Pottgen and Divale looked around as they stood, acting the part, but deep down less enthused. Their wandering eyes met hers and both nodded silently, letting the air commander know that they will do their best in making sure people didn’t go overboard. _Please protect them my angels, because I’m not in a position to do that anymore._

“Thank you all very much for your service.” Erwin remarked, hamming up the performance. Then he motioned for them to sit back down and put his hands behind his back. “Prep yourselves for aerial bombardment. Rockets, bombs, anything you can get your hands on. Your objective will be to destroy or disable as much as you can and return. No prolonged engagements and absolutely no ground combat. If you’re interceptedby the enemy, jettison all ordinance and RTB. Losses are to be kept to a minimum folks so keep it that way. Operation start is approximately one hour from now. Kit up and dismissed.”

Before anyone else had a chance to, Aaron shot up from his seat like he was fired from a cannon and inquired, “Given how dark it gets out here and the forecast calls for very cloudy skies, this could very well affect navigation. How are we to travel to our intended targets without effective sight or landmarks, much less come back as a whole group?”

Marseilles got up from her chair, clapped her hand on his right shoulder and explained with a devious grin, “Oh, I’m sure I can think of a way.”

************

The flame flickered and died on the last purple votive candle, just one of a set of four that lined a stone mantle. A pair of eyes watched the last dying gasps of the fire fade to smoke, noting how it curled into the air in the shape of crescent, one that reminded her of the unique curvature of Death’s scythe. A single rivulet of colored wax ran down the length of the candle, slightly obscuring the name stenciled on the side, FURUKO. Breathing in deep, the vapors of the incense delighting her senses during this time of distress, the mistress muttered loudly, “Then it is true. Kitano Furuko is dead.” She got up from her knees, smoothing out her long flowing garb as she did so, and turned to face the neophyte, the exact same one that gave her the news of the warlock’s arrival. Though she couldn’t see the face clearly given the gloom and hood, the rigidity of the body told her that she was clearly agitated.

“It was the warlock’s doing.” her underling growled. “I’m sure of it.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” the mistress agreed, walking over to one of the many carved frescoes that lined the walls. The raging coal fed fires of the nearby braziers played all sorts of tricks with the light, illuminating and darkening the art. Across the old hand-hewn rock was a long series of tiny human shaped figures standing before several blocky structures, ones with rays emanating from the tops and featuring a diamond like shape in the center. “Judging by the way it went out, her death was most painful, at least for a moment.” she mused, gazing over the tale the symbols told

“From what I’ve been able to ascertain, he interrogated her shortly after her capture.” the neophyte reported. She chuckled and added, “Quite a waste of time if one thinks about it. Nothing can be gleaned from us, no thanks to your magic my mistress.”

The woman nodded, but wrinkled her nose at such blatant flattery. “Even my magic is not absolute girl.” she countered. “The warlock is crafty and managed to extract some pertinent information regarding our fall back options before dispatching my general.”

A gasp emanated from the throat of the neophyte who immediately went into a panic. “If that is true my mistress, our forces will be open to counterattack! We need to warn-” she blathered furiously until the mistress flicked the stone wall in front of her with her right index finger, the harsh tack sound of nail on sandstone silencing her.

“It has already been arranged.” the mistress assured. “In fact, I fully expected this development.”

The revelation puzzled the neophyte for a moment. “So you mean to say that you fully intended to lose one of your generals?” she queried with a hint of disbelief.

“But of course.” the mistress replied with a cruel smile. “Kitano Furuko’s usefulness as a pawn in this grand game had run out some time ago. Her death, though regrettable, has not been wasted. This new general of theirs, this Rommel, is aggressive and tenacious, seeking to prove himself being new to command. An attack will happen and the warlock will be with them. They will hit whatever troops that couldn’t be evacuated, but given how many we killed, I doubt the damage will be severe.” She paused and leaned in towards the newest recruit. “Besides, I have a special surprise waiting for them.”

**************

Being at the forefront of an attack was something that Aaron was used to, however, try as he might, he could not recollect a time where he did so without directly seeing the target area. Lieutenant Marseilles’ solution to the navigation problem that he brought up at the briefing was to have him fly towards the positions backwards, letting the rest of the flight be guided by the light of his eyes, with him relying on dead reckoning and memory to lead them there. His superior was off to his immediate right, paying him no mind whatsoever, panning her head this way and that downwards in a mostly futile exercise to identify where they were at the moment. As for Pilot Officer Pottgen, she was on the opposite side, mimicking her counterpart and occasionally calling for quiet over her shoulder at the rest of the witches that trailed like party streamers behind them all. Each one of them was armed with rocket launchers, antitank guns, antiaircraft cannons, and heavy machine guns. Though Rommel did specify that the operation required maximum force, hence the weapon types carried, Neumann managed to prevail upon him to allow her pilots to carry sidearms. _Wish choice. You never know when a pistol could come in handy._

Divale let his eyes wander and they couldn’t see very much else besides the dark cloud cover above them all and equally ebon black desert below. His enhanced vision allowed him to peer through the gloom to the point where he could make out the faces and outlines of the eighteen witches facing him. Thinking that the evening hid them well, many whispered between themselves, sharing snippets of information. Some of what was said the warlock couldn’t understand as he didn’t speak Japanese, but when it came to the Germans among the group, he knew full well what they were saying. There was the usual ‘so and so got killed’, ‘that such and such guy up and left me that night’, and of course, the ever so poignant ‘he looks kind of cute in a scary way’. Those humdrum phrases were vastly outnumbered by others that spoke to a general unease about the whole enterprise that they all volunteered to embark on, a sentiment that both he and Rai shared. _Makes no fucking sense to me to strike out at the enemy with such a small force. What the hell does Rommel think he’s going to accomplish? Even with the firepower we’ve got, I’ll be amazed if we managed to take out ten Cataphractii._ The wind picked up and blew his short hair in all directions, the locks waving like loved ones at the dock bidding their husbands and sons farewell. _Might have to get a haircut one of these days. It’s getting long._ His mouth opened and he started to yawn before a single strand of hair managed to get into his mouth, triggering a small spit fest that drew Hanna’s attention.

“Watch the friendly fire there master sergeant.” she cautioned. “Wouldn’t want to clip someone with that.”

Aaron circled his lips with his tongue just to make sure that he managed to expel the offending strand from his scalp and replied, “I had enough protein and roughage at dinner. I don’t need anything more from myself to add to it.” Again, the urge to yawn came on again and he did so rather loudly.

“Are you actually tired?” Marseilles inquired, dead serious.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Divale answered. Deep down though, he did feel slightly exhausted. The battle earlier in the day, transferring control to Ismenoth, and the interrogation of Furuko had drained him so much that he had to vomit twice just to get the excess blood out of his stomach. Not since the day he went to France with Mio had he ever felt this empty.

Not believing him for a second, Hanna reached into her left breast pocket and pulled out what looked to be a wrapped candy bar and basically shoved it into the warlock’s face. “General Rommel wants us to get the job done and get out. It’s hard enough to do so in this dark without you possibly dozing off at an inopportune time.” she remarked. More curious than insulted, Aaron took the mysterious gift and looked at it. Through the dark, he managed to make out a single word: Fliegerschokolade (Fliers Chocolate). He narrowed his eyes and his stomach turned at the mere sight of the drug. _Uggh. This shit again. Chocolate covered amphetamines. Found these by the truckload all over Austria and parts of southern Germany. People actually sold these on the side just to get money to pay for their family’s passage to safety._ A bit of whispering brought him out of his thoughts and he saw two Japanese pilots, one of whom he recognized from triage with her mouth close to the right ear of her counterpart. After listening in, the other pilot nodded and asked without a hint of accent, “My friend was wondering if she might have them if you don’t want them?”

Aaron stared long and hard at them, particularly the one whose life he helped save and answered, “With great respect, I don’t think she should have these. She barely a few hours removed from getting a life saving transfusion. Believe me, I was there.”

Another round of secretive back and forth ensued before the translator responded, “She promises to take only a half capsule and that she’s thankful for what you did for her.”

Divale looked down at the wrapper and then back at the pair before slowly decelerating to where he could extend his right arm and hand the amphetamines off. “Be sure to watch her for any signs of heart palpitations.” the warlock warned, holding them out to her. “Too fast of a heart rate and she’ll pass out. Doctor’s orders.”

Nodding, the still woozy looking witch took them from his hand and bowed in thanks. As she opened the package and fiddled with one of the pills, her friend ventured, “Is it alright if I ask you a question master sergeant?”

“Go right ahead.” Aaron replied, watching the other snap the capsule in half and swallow it.

“Did your eyes always glow like rainbows in the dark?” she inquired.

 _What an awfully poetic line._ “No idea.” Divale answered, thinking about it. “I can’t recollect a time from my human past when they weren’t.” _Even if I could remember the time I wouldn’t say much about it. Speaking of which…_ The warlock crunched some numbers in his head and immediately stated, “We’re right outside the engagement zone. Pulling up into the clouds now.”

Hanna looked over and nodded. “All craft follow the lead into the clouds. Deploy into hover on my mark.” she ordered. No sooner did she issue the directive than the warlock rose sharply upwards, his agility easily eclipsing the other pilots. Marseilles with Pottgen by her side, revved their Strikers in an attempt to catch up to him, watching his closely for the agreed upon sign, a quick succession of left eye blinks. Upwards the flight climbed in silence, small talk long forgotten and abandoned. Soon, the lieutenant could see the left eye of the master sergeant disappear and then reappear in quick succession. “All craft engage hover mode.” The whine of gears echoed throughout the area as the internal gears and mechanisms switched up, grinding the forward advance to halt. Strangely enough, both German witches observed Aaron continue on his merry way forwards, back flipping and twisting his body completely around so that he faced forwards. They watched him go out for several hundred feet before coming to a total stop, his wings beating the air softly. He extended both his arms and drew two long circles into the cloud cover. Once that was done, he inserted his hands fingers first into the slight overlap and pulled them apart as if he was opening a curtain.

Curious, Raisa looked back at the rest of the makeshift attack force and called out, “Maintain position and radio silence until further notice.” She then gazed over at Hanna who decided to join up with their guide. The two sprinted forwards as Divale panned his head to and fro. When the pair got close enough to see, all they could make out was faint outlines of sand dunes several miles below them. _What’s he looking at?_ “Can they see you from there?” the pilot officer asked.

The warlock shook his head in the negative and replied, “Unless they have my vision, it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

 _Not that hard. Just use a powerful magnet._ Marseilles squinted her eyes and frowned when she couldn’t make out anything substantial. “Are you sure we’re at the right place master sergeant?” she inquired with scorn. “We haven’t got all night to play a glorified game of Marco Polo.”

Aaron merely moved his right hand off to the side, palm open, tiny orange colored runes appearing over his flesh, twirling as if part of a music box. “Take my hand and find out lieutenant.” he offered. Hanna glanced at the massive hand of the warlock and back at him, seeing if there was any sign of tomfoolery. Seeing none, she shrugged her shoulders and took hold of his right hand with her left. Instantly, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm and smacked the back of her eyes, making them burn as if being cooked by a high fever. A split second later, her world of night became one of day as the color began to seep into her vision, painting the desert, sky, and clouds in contrasting hues. Her eyes drifted to the surface where a quintet of heavily camouflaged depots lay, arranged in the shape of a star. Each had several low lying buildings that looked like they extended deep in the sand, their sides surrounded by leaning towers of wooden crates, metal boxes, and scratched up petrol barrels. Further along were antiaircraft batteries hiding under more tarps with long lines of vehicles stretching for miles. Some were operation, cruising at low speeds over the dunes, stopping every so often before resuming their patrols. Neuroi also ran security sweeps around and within the perimeter, their pulsating red markings clearly evident. From where she was looking, the locations all looked to be part of some massive fort that had fallen into disrepair.

“Wow.” she breathed, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.

“Now you know what the world is like through my eyes.” Aaron commented, a tad pleased with himself.

Not one to be left out of the loop, Raisa also put her best hand forward and touched his own. She visibly winced as the magic took hold, but when it did take, her reaction was the same as her friends, one of wonder and awe. “Amazing.” Pottgen muttered as she could see well enough to count the number of grousers on the tracks of a enemy Sherman. “You can actually see in the dark this well?”

“Every day.” Divale answered, paying less attention to the witches and more to the depots. “That’s a lot of supply. Easily enough for all of us back at Alexandria and the reinforcements.”

“And it’s hardly guarded.” Raisa pointed out. “Plenty of perimeter and inner defenses when it comes to armor and air attack, but there’s no sign of any infantry except what’ s manning the AA. Awfully strange. There’s no way they could’ve all come here, rearmed, reorganized, and bolted within a few hours.”

“The general did say that El Alamein could be a factor.” Marseilles countered. “My best guess is that they split their army, some going west and the rest here.” She then gestured towards the low lying buildings and commented, “They could be deep bunkers, housing the main force.”

“Another theory.” Aaron suggested. “Back in France, the Resistance knew that going overland was suicide, so they cannibalized what they could from the rail transport system the Maginot Line had and reconfigured it to run on the subway systems that linked many of the major towns, expanding side routes as needed.”

“You’re not insinuating that they did he exact same thing between here and El Alamein?” Rai asked.

“It could explain why there’s so few.” the warlock justified. “I also see no tracks leading from anywhere down there to somewhere else and they even if they did split the army as the lieutenant said, the amount of time needed to cover up the tracks would generate tell tale sand clouds, making a mini trough as it settled.”

“Great thought on your part, but it’s still utter shit in the end because out here, those subways don’t exist.” Hanna scoffed. “Regardless, we should spend less time gawking and more time shooting. The enemy is fully exposed. We can and will do serious damage.”

 _If by serious damage meaning a loss of less than ten percent._ “There’s some strange patterns in the sand, big ones.” the pilot officer observed, directing everyone’s attention to the aforementioned. “Possibly AA or even Neuroi hidden in the sand just waiting to pop out like wolf spiders.”

 _Shit. That throws a wrench in the works. Wonder if he could do anything._ “Can you do anything to hold them off?” Marseilles inquired.

Aaron looked over his shoulder and nodded. “I can, but it’s going to require me to go out on my own and you all need me to guide you folks through this.”

“We could split our flight in two.” Pottgen advised. “He’ll fire a few HE shots at the closest one, causing the barrels to explode and creating illumination. He then moves in, doing whatever it it he’s got planned while we circle around blasting everything that looks expensive.”

“And by the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be above them.” Marseilles deduced. “You’re going to be the center of attention for a bit master sergeant so I hope your body can hold up.”

“Nothing I haven’t done for over close to five years now.” Aaron stated, shouldering his 17 pound antitank gun. “I do humbly request that I have a wingman lieutenant. My eyes may see all, but I only have two of them if you catch my drift.”

“Fine.” Hanna curtly replied. “I’ll get you a volunteer, but it will be your responsibility to make sure that she gets out alive. Wait until we get set up and then fire at will.” With that, both German witches departed, the soft whine of their Striker engines marking their passing. Divale fished around in his backpack and felt the tips of the antitank shells that he carried. _From what I recall, HE has a smoother tip compared to the AP shot. There you are._ Wrapping his fingers around the round, he pulled it out and casually loaded it into the breech. As he did so, he picked up the sounds of orders being barked out at whisper levels and turned around to see just that. Such a thing was expected, but what the warlock didn’t predict was the two Japanese witches making a beeline for him with Pottgen in tow. _The fuck is this about?_ Though her eyesight couldn’t pick up his confusion, somehow the pilot officer detected it and said, “Your volunteer can’t speak English very well so you have to mind her and her translator. We’ll be ready in a few more seconds. Be ready master sergeant.”

Aaron responded by giving her a thumbs up and she hastily departed, leaving the warlock alone with the two volunteers who looked at his earnestly, waiting to hear what was going on. “We’re going to hit the enemy hard, but there are a few wrinkles in the plan. They have hidden AA under the sand in the middle of all this and I’ve been tasked with preventing them from surfacing. To do that, we had to compromise on my ability to guide you all in. Lieutenant Marseilles is going to have me start a fuel fire to provide light. When that’s done, you both are going to stick to me like glue and protect my blindsides as I get to work. Make sure you huddle close to my wings, they can deflect bullets and beams alike. That will allow you to focus your shields on whatever is exposed. Understand?”

The one spoke to the other and her now fully amped up counterpart nodded enthusiastically. Content that his message was received, Divale aimed his cannon at the fuel stores, going for the far eastern edge instead of the center or west. _The ammo is close by. If the heat won’t set it off, the recoil will set me up perfectly for a follow up shot. Should I also hit the building or not? Eh, what the hell._ Suddenly, his communicator crackled to life. “Ready and waiting master sergeant. You may fire when ready.” Marseilles reported. Aaron focused on his target and smiled. _It’s going to be a hot time in the old town tonight._ Without my more thought, he pulled the trigger, sending the explosive payload screaming towards the target. Within a few seconds, the round collided with the petrol barrels and detonated, sending superheated shrapnel everywhere. The semi molten fragments pierced the thin metal of the barrels and set them off, creating a massive chain reaction explosion, the fire cloud engulfing much of the nearby area. Most didn’t have enough time to catch before Divale loaded another round and fired again, this time at the ammo dump, aiming for the center. That shot struck true and the munitions went up like fireworks, bullets and grenades flying into the air. Divale was about to stop his attack and get on with the main assault, but his eyes spied one of the compound doors opening. Instinct took over and his body almost moved itself as another HE shell was slammed home into the breech. “Oh I am your singing telegram.” he mused aloud in a sing song way as he casually fired, not even watching the devastation that ensued when it hit. He slung the antitank rifle over his shoulder and motioned for his witch wingmen to follow him. As they did so, going into a steep dive, the warlock radioed Marseilles, “Path is lit lieutenant. Happy hunting.”

Hanna didn’t answer him, instead killing the link and concentrating on the main objective. As one who didn’t like to wait long, she had already started her approach on the right by the time Aaron had fired his first shot. Raisa protested, telling her to wait a bit longer, but her friend’s words fell on deaf ears. _I didn’t get where I am by sitting back and being patient. I got here by taking what was rightfully mine when I wanted it. And right now, I want this._ Her attack group, herself and eight other pilots, dove head long into the conflagration, closing the distance fast so that they could begin shelling. The light allowed her to see the enemy swarming out of the low lying buildings like a colony of fire ants, making bee lines for the AA guns or trying to get to emergency water tanks to put the flames out. Vehicles out on patrol stated to motor on back, aiming their guns skywards. “You better get a move on Rai.” she advised over her communicator, noting Pottgen’s rather late start on things on the left while hefting her machine gun. “If you take too long, I can’t guarantee that there will be any left for you.” _Speaking of…_ Marseilles eyes searched for Aaron’s distraction and she quickly found him, moving in fast and furious with his bodyguards over the center. Orange and red flames played tricks on his silver wings, making them glow as if alight themselves. His descent was incredible and he seemed to pause for a brief moment, looking like he was inhaling the noxious fumes. Confusion reigned for a short while until the warlock exhaled, emitting a a firestorm from his gaping maw that engulfed a vast swathe of the inner perimeter, emulating an ancient dragon. The scene shocked the lieutenant, but she shook her head clear of such things and saw that her targets were in range. Aiming her machine gun at some of the petrol barrels, she ordered, “Fire at will!”

The rest of the pilots did as they were told, firing in unison at whatever wasn’t in the air as they buzzed at near chimney stack height over the fire and the flames. More explosions rocked the earth below, the concussive force buffeting their stomachs to the point where some may have felt the urge to vomit, but the onslaught continued. Hordes of the foe dove for cover or were simply obliterated by the fury along with dozens of transports, tanks, fuel and ammo reserves, and large sections of their structures, killing untold more of them. Continuing on their path of destruction, more and more damage was being done, and Hanna’s heart leapt for joy at the sight. _General Rommel will be most pleased with the 31_ _st_ _and me in particular._ Shots from the ground were answering theirs from the sky, but unlike the latter, these were aimed out of fear and not focus, the bullets passing by without anyone’s shields registering a hit. Off on her left, Pottgen’s team joined the fray, leveling anything they came across so violently that Marseilles could feel the explosions from where she was. “Keep it up ladies!” she barked over the din, ramming another clip home. “Remember, you have one full pass so give it everything you got!” Looking at how things were developing, they were roughly halfway around the ring of depots, their passing marked by shafts of black smoke and fire. “Pay attention! We’re going to cross paths! Stay to the right!” she advised.

Meanwhile, darting to and fro in all directions above a roaring inferno, the warlock and his two wingmen were taking potshots at targets of opportunity, using the flames themselves to hide their movements. Sweat dripped from Aaron’s face, the heat below him that intense. Between bursts from his machine gun, he took glances over his shoulder at this companions, checking to make sure that they were okay. The witches were waltzing around him to the tune battle, all the while protecting his blindsides. Though he knew that he was safe with them around, Divale kept his shields up all around him, taking no chances. _I can’t even recall how many times someone under my command got wasted because they felt secure._ The thought made him wonder where the other attack groups were and he climbed slightly, hunched over like a gargoyle so to make himself less of an open target. “Imago calor.” he intoned. His new enhanced vision played hell on his senses, especially considering the fire that raged underneath him, but he managed to pick the other pilots out, passing by each other like streetcars on a busy street, their body heat making them look like long strands of vibrant beads as they streaked across the dark sky. _Won’t be long before we get the order to withdraw Best to secure the extraction point._ Killing the enchantment, Aaron called out at the top of his lungs as he prepared to climb up and out of the heat, “Playtime’s over folks! We are leaving!”

Both heard his call and copied his maneuver, rising up into the air hard, shell tracers whizzing by. Taking a chance to look behind, one of them bellowed, “What’s that!”

Concerned, Divale whipped his head around and his blood went cold. The magical fire that he intended to last well after they had departed was going out at an alarming rate, the genesis point in the center completely devoid of flames, leaving a patch of glass. Impurities within the sand discolored the solid shell, making it look like a hunk of ammolite, the vibrant tones enhanced by the light of the ammo and fuel fires. Then, the middle of the patch started to glow at opposite ends and slowly moved along unseen paths that made the warlock furrow his brow. At first, they looked completely random, until he realized that they were outlining a rune, one that he knew well. _Acribus._ Frantically, he searched for Marseilles’ and Pottgen’s attack group and saw to his horror that they were going to end their runs almost exactly when he projected the runic symbol to be finished. “Stay here!” he ordered to his awestruck wingmen and he dove back headlong into the fray. Fumbling with his communicator, he screamed, “Break off the attacks! We’ve been had!”

Raisa heard the warning and tried to look for what Aaron was talking about, but could see nothing. “I can’t see! What’s going on!?”” she exclaimed.

“Be more specific! Where is the threat?!” Hanna demanded.

Divale grew frustrated as he saw the rune nearing completion. _Not a lot of time. I’m probably going to have to take the hit._ “Pull up! All craft pull up!” he cried out, determining where the best spot would be to intercept the spell. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lieutenant and pilot officer finally heed his warning. A sight like that should’ve gave him some comfort, but the warlock was no fool. _I just hope I can weather this._

Ascending hard and moving away from the conflagration will full intent to return to Alexandria, Marseilles panned her head in all directions to locate whatever it was that the master sergeant had informed them about. Seconds went by and the lieutenant grew frustrated. _So help me God if he issued a false alarm and used it to exploit an opportunity, I’ll have his head!_ Suddenly, the blaze went out with hardly a puff of smoke to indicate that it was there to begin with. However, through the darkness that re-enveloped the land, something could be seen, a strange glowing mark on the scorched earth, the sight of which made her sick to her stomach. It then started to pulsate, the mark shifting in hues from yellow, to orange, and finally red, the same color of the Neuroi. The aura created by the lights outlined the warlock as he arrested his descent and placed both his wings in front of him like a massive shield.

Aaron closed his eyes and heard the spell go off with the sound of thunder. Less than a heartbeat later, the ray struck his wings. To this point, Divale had be struck by many things ranging from bullets to brow beatings, from shrapnel to sneers, and from punches to punchlines, but all those things did not hit as hard as the blast of magical energy, the force of which he hadn’t felt since training during the dark times before his liberation. The hit was absorbed full on by his wings. They reflected a generous portion, but not nearly enough. With the cracking of bone and tearing of flesh, his silver appendages were being eaten through, blood chunks falling and burning away, filling the air with the odor of burnt meat and his brain with pain. Moreover, the acribus thrust him backwards hard, his agony stricken world literally turning head over heels. The intensity of the blow soon caught up with Aaron, the torment too much to bear, his vision began to blur and the dark fell upon him. Before the end, his last thought was thus: _They say if you can feel the hit, you’re going to make it._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Ismenoth share a heart to heart over coffee, one that is interrupted by reinforcements. From there, our warlock rides a roller coaster of emotions starting at elation, moving through ambivalence, circling around rage, and ultimately leveling off at acceptance.

**_ **Chapter VI: The Boys (And Girls) Are Back In Town** _ **

**_ _ **

_There were dozens, hundred of these children, these emaciated and pale figures. They were complete and utter strangers to me, yet somehow I felt a sense of kinship with them. Looking at the old soldier who freed me, I asked, ‘Who are all these people?’ The man returned my question with one of his own. ‘What sort of question is that?’ he scoffed. ‘These are your friends.’_

Diary Entry December 25th 1939

The ceiling fan made another revolution, the ill fitting fins shaking a tad as they continued to swing around and around. It sounded like someone putting on a tight sock every two and a half seconds. After listening to it for the better part of thirteen straight hours, one could well imagine that it would drive any sane person mad, but Aaron had managed to tune it out quickly. _That or I’m truly not sane at all._ He blinked a few times, the sensation of heavy eyelids over dry bloodshot eyeballs making him tear up subconsciously. The warlock grabbed the collar of his shirt and wiped his sockets clear, sighing deeply as he stared again at his rather plain surroundings.

From what he could figure, it was a hospital room of sorts judging from the smell of antiseptic and the sterile white walls and ceiling tile. The hardwood floor looked brand new, the floorboards stained and lacquered, every square inch waxed and buffed to a high sheen, reflecting the light barely streaming in from the heavily blinded window off to his left. A door to the outside was on his right while a tiny table sat in the center of the room with a single pine chair off to the side that looked like it couldn’t hold up under scrutiny much less his weight. His bed lay right behind him, clean crisp white sheets immaculately positioned and smoothed out, indicative of him not having slept in it. _I should sleep. God knows I’ll need it._ Divale began to make a move towards it and later dreamland until he caught a whiff of something that he knew he shouldn’t. _That’s coffee I smell._ Tracing the source with his head he found, sitting on the table, a porcelain mug of steaming freshly brewed coffee, the aroma making the warlock’s mouth water with expectation. Walking over quickly, he gingerly sat down in the chair and grabbed the cup with both hands, feeling the warmth of the vapor on his face and the ceramic in his hands. Licking his lips in anticipation, he made a move to lift it up to his mouth, but then Aaron’s maw dried up like the desert outside when he detected another cloying stench in the air, that of frankincense, myrrh, and aniseed, putting him right off his appetite. A look of utter disgust came over him as his eyes moved a fraction of an iota upwards, his peripheral gazing upon the reclining form of Ismenoth, lying on the table, belly on the wood and elbows flat on the tabletop, her hands pressed against her face and her legs kicking to and fro in the air like some lollygagging school girl reposing and thinking about the world on the playground. Her attire was the same as it was when she met Perrine all those months ago, but her top was worn loose, revealing the outer most perimeters of her areolas and most of her ample breasts. Suddenly, his mug began to fill up as white cream began to trickle into the dark liquid, mellowing the color. It lasted only an instant and Aaron looked fully upon the demonness, bright eyes peering into dark ones. “I don’t even want to know where you got that cream.” he muttered as he rose the mug to his lips.

The fiend winked flirtatiously at him and replied, “Only the best for my man.”

Aaron took the tiniest of sips, not trusting whatever it was that she might have put in it. His taste buds registered the milk, but it carried the properties of the scents that seeped out of Ismenoth’s pores. _It’s like a perfumed dairy product, but it’s better than nothing._ “On a cold day in Hell.” he shot back, taking another drink.

Reaching forwards with her right hand, the demonness ran her index finger over the middle of Divale’s forehead and down the ridge of his nose before playfully pushing his schnoz like an elevator button. “I know places that are like that down there.” she stated matter of factly. “Maybe we could arrange a trip sometime.” She watched him ignore her and continue taking begrudging swigs of his coffee. To her, it was nothing new, but what happened last night was. The spell hit Aaron hard, destroying close to forty percent of his wings and caused numerous burns on his shoulders, arms, and hands from the heat blast and the sand abrasions when he hit the ground and slid close to forty feet. Marseilles and Pottgen found him quick, following the impact trail like explorers of old tailing a meteor strike. By then, Divale fell unconscious, forcing Ismenoth to take control in order to get him to safety. It took them plus his two tearfully apologetic wingmen to help steer him back home. _Surprised they could still see given how much blubbering they were doing. It always amazes me how much a human being can cry._ Upon landing back in Alexandria, she made him check into a nearby hospital, making it perfectly clear to the receptionist that no visitors were permitted. It took some convincing, but in the end, her way was had. _People still tried to get in though. Those German’s, his new CO, the general, even that harlot Nabakov. Those locks on that door are quite sturdy._ In the meantime, Ismenoth kept a careful watch on Aaron, making sure to juice up his healing capabilities when needed. While helpful, it precluded him from sleeping, hence his rosy disposition. He didn’t say one word at all throughout the process, fully aware of what she was doing to him.

“That makes another one you owe me.” the fiend commented, reflecting on the numerous times she had to bail his ass out of the fire. “You’re welcome by the way.”

Coffee dribbled out of the corners of the warlock’s mouth and he used his right shirt sleeve to wipe away the mess. Aaron took a deep breath and exhaled, his breath making his lips quiver and slap against each other like a horse. “I guess you deserve some thanks.” he admitted.

Onyx black eyes widened. “Can get that in wri-. No. I would like that carved in stone if you please.” the demonness ordered.

“Oh I’ll carve it alright.” Divale assured with a sly smile. “One steel toed boot to the keister at a time.”

“Really?” Ismenoth inquired, a touch puzzled. “And to think that I always thought of you as a breast man.”

Divale set the mug down hard on the table with his right hand, the clunk of porcelain on wood sounding like a judge’s gavel, still warm java spilling up and over the lip and running down the sides. “Regardless of what I or what I not notice first about a woman, we need to get to the bottom of this and quick.” He wiped his paw dry on his pants and cleared his throat. “What I saw last night was the warlock spell acribus. I’ve only seen that during training and even then when you taught it to me, I didn’t dare use it as it had a high miscast chance and was far too costly. Combine that with what I saw in those autopsy reports that Neumann showed me, there’s no doubt in my mind that whoever or whatever is doing this, they have a full understanding of the material.” He then leaned in close to the fiend’s face, displaying his left index finger so as to make his next point clear. “I need you to level with me right here right now Ismenoth. Is there any way that someone from Operation Reciprocity managed to sneak out of that research facility before the Allies launched Operation Yuletide?”

“No.” the demonness abruptly answered, blinking once. Aaron’s lip curled as anger started to take hold of him, but before he could say anything else, Ismenoth clasped the sides of his head and held it firm. “There’s no way any of them got out of there Aaron.” she firmly stated, glaring a hole through him. “I saw every body they pulled out of that place before they burned them. Two hundred and seventeen people went in on their own two feet and two hundred and seventeen people came out flat on their backs. And don’t fucking dare say that if Maloney could get in and out someone else could. Exceptions prove nothing here. They were all accounted for. I swear to God!”

“Like that does any good.” Divale replied coldly, leaning backwards and breaking her hold on his cranium. “He had to have told someone other than the Allied High Command, which would entail him making copies of what he knew and disseminating them to interested parties.”

“But who would even believe what he was saying?” Ismenoth countered, sitting up on the table, leaving her legs spread out. “All the evidence was confiscated or destroyed, all the personnel were dead, you all were sent to Russia, and those who committed the dirty deed could just deny it so there was nothing physical to back up his claims.”

“Well someone fucking believed him.” the warlock shot back. “There no such thing as coincidence in this world. Even if there was, it’s highly improbable that two separate entities would deal with the exact same thing on two different continents.”

“Great minds think alike along parallel lines Aaron.” the fiend ventured confidently. “It’s not as far fetched as you think.”

Divale stood up from the table, grabbing the coffee mug as he started to make his way towards the window, stewing and thinking. “You still have your pulse on that investigation they’re doing on that Maloney fucker?” he asked.

“Since the beginning.” the demonness affirmed. “He had plenty of friends in high places, but there’s nothing to suggest that any of them delved into that rabbit hole of his.”

“What about family?” Aaron conjectured, hoping that it would lead somewhere.

Ismenoth shook her head in the negative. “The man was a bachelor through and through. He had extended family, but hadn’t had any meaningful contact with them for a good ten years. True, he had flings with several women here and there, but nothing sustaining. Horny fucker even bedded one of the researchers, you know that?”

“Which still leads us to a dead end.” Aaron muttered hotly, taking another sip of coffee. “And leaves us in a dilemma.” He turned and looked at the demonness and suggested, “What happened last night was either a gross miscalculation by the enemy or pure luck on my part. Either way, I could’ve died. They want us down for the count and we need to be more cautious. You think I should give you more leeway in taking control?”

Ismenoth straightened her back and crossed her legs, sitting like an Indian. Her brow furrowed as she looked down and away at the floor in deep thought. Several seconds went by until she looked right back at him, shrugged, and responded, “If you insist.”

Divale then walked towards her and extended his right hand. “I’m a stranger in a strange land.” he acknowledged. “We’re dealing with an enemy that’s just as devious and smart as we are and armed with magic that could take me down at any time. You know I don’t trust you, but when your back’s against the wall-”

“You turn to what you know, even if it’s suspect.” the fiend finished, taking his hand into hers and shaking it firmly. “Just make sure you compensate me from time to time alright?”

“What?” the warlock queried. “You didn’t get your jollies off from poking and prodding me all last night?” The demonness made a move to answer, but before she could, her head whipped around towards the door and she instantly rocked hard backwards, looking like she was going to flip off the table. However, she arrested herself with her hands and pushed, sending her flying through the room feet first straight at Aaron’s chest. He didn’t so much as flinch as the tips of her shoes went into his chest, her form disappearing back to where she came from. Gone were the feet, the legs, the chest, and the head, leaving just the hands. The right snapped its fingers, unlocking the door ahead of vanishing totally from sight. A split second later, a series of gentle knocks could be heard. “It’s open.” Aaron called out, downing almost the rest of the coffee in one swallow.

The portal to the outside opened and at the threshold stood Tatiana, wearing a green dress with black shoes and a thin plastic hair band that held her long hair in check. Her face was at first etched with deep concern for the person inside, but upon seeing that everything was alright, Nabakov’s visage softened and smiled. Walking up briskly to Aaron, she wrapped her arms around him in with big hug, holding him tight, but not too much as to spill his coffee. Divale returned the gesture with his one free hand and closed his tired eyes for a moment. He could recall how much she pleaded with the doctors and orderlies to give her permission to enter, how much she raised her voice to the point of losing it, how much she cried in frustration. Listening to it all transpire just a few feet away was hard, but Ismenoth needed to nurse him back to health and it wouldn’t help matters if she saw where his magic came from. _Would probably run away screaming._ The Russian lessened her grip a tad and looked up into his eyes. “Hey.” she uttered almost breathlessly. “You okay? You scared me last night.”

“I know.” the warlock admitted with clear guilt in his voice. “And I’m sorry for that.”

With a jump, Tatiana boosted herself off the ground and gave him a quick peck of a kiss on the left cheek. She landed and looked him over, craning her neck up and around his massive frame. “You don’t look too bad from what they said you looked like.” she commented happily. “From what your squadron mates told me, it sounded like you’d been through a wringer.”

“The term wringer wouldn’t even begin to describe it Miss Nabakov.” another woman’s voice stated. The pair looked back towards the still open door and saw Pottgen and Marseilles standing there, appearing relieved that Aaron was alright physically and emotionally, but still a touch wary. Raisa coughed lightly and added. “He was pretty much a human burn mark when we found him in the sand. Impact buried him deep. Took us a few minutes to dig him out.”

“I’m sorry that I was such a burden.” Divale jested.

Hanna then added her two cents. “I don’t mind how much you saddled us master sergeant. What I do mind is how you acted when we got you back in one piece. Not even a thank you for saving your life and most egregiously, you cooped yourself up in this room, swearing off any visitors who might want to make sure that you were alright.” she ranted.

The warlock nodded as the words hit home like a sniper’s bullet. “My behavior was not becoming of me.” he acknowledged. “I’m truly sorry for the way I acted. I wasn’t myself that night.”

“Hopefully that’s the only time you act up.” the lieutenant warned. “I’d like to deal with the enemy outside the walls, not an asshole within.”

The pilot officer walked away from her friend and up to Aaron. “Are you good to go?” she asked.

“Don’t you think that should be something for the doctor to decide?” Tatiana ventured.

Divale placed a reassuring left hand on her shoulder and drank the rest of the java down, setting the mug down carefully near the window sill. “I’m the doctor.” he said. With a flourish, he slowly unfurled his wings. Craning his neck, he looked them over. He could clearly tell which part was original and what was new growth, the new fleshy off white contrasting sharply with the old silver plumage. “Once the new skin gets oxygen and some sun on it, it will be like it never happened.” the warlock deduced out loud.

“Can you still fly if need be?” Marseilles inquired.

“Of course.” Aaron immediately answered.

“Then we’re going to need you to come with us.” Hanna ordered. “The reinforcements are within ten miles of the city and I’ll not have it said that the 31st didn’t give our new found friends a proper welcome.”

*******************

The mead swirled like liquid gold in the glass tumbler for several seconds until Aaron arrested the flow with a flick of the right wrist, tiny droplets cascading over his hand from the lip of the bottle. Quickly, he set it down and moved his wet mitt away, allowing the alcohol to drip to the floor of the 31st HQ. After he wiped his hand dry on his pants, Divale took a hold of the glass with his left hand and marched briskly towards the back end of the compound, bringing his wings out, actively angling them up, over, and around tables, chairs, and all manner of equipment as he came up to the formerly ‘secret escape route’ that Rai had told him about. _It says EXIT in big white letters. How fucking secret could it be?_ With a long lunge, he sidestepped a file cabinet and same face to face with said door. He placed his right hand on the knob, turned it all the way around, and pushed. Desert air smacked his face as the warlock left the inside for the outside, the heat of the early morning, though fairly tolerable, still packing a punch. Closing the door behind him, Aaron took a quick drink and unfurled his wings, flapping them once to gain altitude. Craning his neck upwards, he could see the rest of the squadron, Marseilles and Pottgen already in their Strikers and hovering over the HQ. There was space between them and the master sergeant aimed for that spot, climbing and climbing until he slide right into place like a puzzle piece. Looking around, he could see that the view was mostly unobstructed, giving them all clear vision towards the eastern limits of Alexandria. The witches were watching the main road intently, noting the rising cloud coming closer and closer with every passing second. To them, it was thrilling, but for Aaron, it was about as stimulating as getting a hangnail removed without anesthesia. “Exciting action folks.” he commented, taking another swig of his drink.

Raisa looked over at him and his glass of mead with disgust. “Really?” she inquired forcefully in an attempt to shame him. “You’re drinking at 0900?”

“I always get nervous around new people.” Divale countered, bringing the alcohol to his lips again. “Needed something to calm my nerves.”

“Just get it gone when our group starts to arrive.” Hanna stated with finality. “I would like to set a good impression. Understand?”

The warlock gave a sharp salute and proceeded to imbibe heavily. A few swallows in, the long awaited and needed reinforcements crested the last hill, coming into view at last. At the front were the troops of the British Raj, all clad in khaki and straight backed. Their dark complexion shined in the sun like raw copper ore and the Sikhs among their number wore turbans in every color that one could imagine, looking like flowers blooming out of freshly tilled earth. Behind them came the Japanese, their officers unsheathing their katanas and marching in stride with the rest of their men in clockwork lockstep. Then the Canadians, Australians, and Dutch moved in, the first of the group looking like the British with their helmets that looked like hubcaps while the remainder were virtually identical with their wide brimmed hats that were folded upwards and secured with pins or string on the right side, their flags the only things effectively marking them out. Armored units formed an airtight perimeter around the infantry, the cupolas all open and the topside machine guns fully manned. There were tanks galore light, medium, and heavy, self propelled guns, tank destroyers, anti air and antitank elements moving under their own power or towed, half tracks, and waves of transports stretching for miles. And above it all, in the blue skies, witches zoomed in picture perfect formation looking like clouds of locusts ready to descend and lay waste to all they beheld. All and all a truly breathtaking sight. “So any clue as to who these maybe nine or so lunatics are?” Aaron asked absentmindedly.

“None at all.” the lieutenant replied. “Asked Neumann and even she admitted that she had no clue.” She paused, thinking about something and added, “Though if I had to wager a guess, I would say that they had to have been briefed on the situation here, just like you were. Some probably came for the challenge of serving under the best.”

“Or out of patriotism or duty.” the pilot officer pointed out.

“Or, my personal favorite, the girls and the green pocket stuffing.” Divale deadpanned. “Those two always seem to attract the most adherents.”

“That comment wasn’t needed master sergeant.” Rai muttered. “It almost makes me sick to my stomach to have to give you this.” The witch then rummaged around in one of her back pockets and pulled out a small green felt covered box the size of a billiard ball. Aaron looked at it curiously as he took it from her with his free hand. Using his thumb, he pushed open the container and saw two silver bar lapel pins. “Congratulations Lieutenant Divale.” she declared. “Let’s hope you live up to them.”

Aaron tried to say something, but Hanna wheeled right in front of him, staring at him menacingly. “You may be the same rank as me, but believe me when I say this: There will be no sharing of duties unless I allow it.” she imported with a pointed right finger to the chest.

“With all due respect lieutenant,” Divale began, not fazed a bit, “that’s very reassuring to hear. I hope you keep those duties for a long time. My days of leading units are done.”

“That’s not your choice to make.” Raisa pointed out. “Your superiors decide what you do and when you do it. If your number gets called and they tell you to run with it, you’ll smile, salute, and say in which direction.”

“Guess I will.” Aaron admitted, finishing the rest of his mead. With the cup now empty, he looped his left pinky finger through the handle to secure it while shifting the box to the rest of his hand. Once in place, he plucked the insignia out and started attaching them on his collar. “As long as I stick to the shadows. These things will twinkle so bad in the sun that picking me out will be a piece of cake for their snipers.” 

Though the remark was quite rude, Marseilles bit her tongue and ignored him. _Cynical son of a bitch_. _Just listening to him makes me wish that he wasn’t here. True, we might have lost the battle yesterday if it weren’t for him, but I can live with a loss. Him on the other hand?_ She left her thoughts at that and refocused on the long train of men and material still streaming into the city. It filled her heart with joy to see them all, for it had been hard to make new friends after losing so many. _Almost was a lost cause at that point. One day you find yourself locked into an intriguing conversation with three fellow witches at campfire in the middle of nowhere and the next, they’re gone._ Suddenly, her eyes picked up a lone transport veering off from the main formation and enter the long winding streets. _This is it._ “Here they come.” she remarked, gesturing to the vehicle. “Let’s prepare the welcome.”

The warlock stopped drinking his drink for a moment to process that statement. _We actually prepare shit like that?_ Pottgen and Marseilles started to slowly descend and Divale followed suit. He spied on his German counterparts, waiting for them to turn their heads. Once they did, he casually tossed the mug into the sand, the sound of impact effectively silenced by the granules. By the time he set down, the transport’s engine could be heard rumbling up a storm as it came closer and closer. Licking his lips to get the last honey laden droplets, Aaron placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. _I kind of hope they were told about what to expect here. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long day._ A split second later, the vehicle rounded a corner and came into full view. The window was dirty on the fringes save for the massive patch where the windshield wipers did their work. Every square inch of the thing was covered with sand, every bump and jolt the suspension took shaking off enough of the stuff to fill a machine gun emplacements worth of sandbags. Closer and closer it came until it stopped roughly fifteen feet away, the brakes squealing a tad as the transport came to a halt. More sand flew off, this time in a mini wave that resembled the shape for the briefest of moments before gravity took hold and sent them plummeting down to earth. Some of it blew into the trio’s faces, but none of them flinched, save for squinting to protect the eyes. Patiently, they waited as the gears shifted and the front doors opened.

With a small grunt and sigh of relief, General Rommel got out the driver’s seat while Air Commander Neumann exited the front passenger’s side. Such a sight surprised the party, a fact that wasn’t lost on Erwin who immediately noticed it. “Edytha and I thought that if we were getting the best, one should sent the best to get them here.” he stated. Meanwhile, Edytha meandered to the rear of the transport to get the tail gate put down, but it didn’t stop here from explaining a few things as she did so. “We did however grossly miscalculate the travel time. Riding around in the desert at night isn’t too bad as it’s cool out, but if we misjudged our arrival by another hour or so, you’d have had baked potatoes for higher ups.”

“Je pourrais aller chercher une pomme de terre ou quoi que ce soit d’ailleurs. Je meurs de faim. (I could go for a potato or anything for that matter. I'm starving).” a very female French voice grumbled loudly from the back of the transport. The meaning of the words were lost on Pottgen, but Marseilles could figure out what they were saying and did her best not to laugh. _Jokes on her though. There isn’t a way to get a potato here, legal or not._

Divale’s eyes widened when he heard the new arrival speak for not only did he understand what she was saying, but swore that he had heard that particular voice before. _It couldn’t be. Could it_ “Qui vient du pays de France (Who is it that hails from the land of France)?”

A collection of audible gasps emanated from the vehicle interior and as soon as Neumann got the tail gate down with a hard clunk of metal on metal, over a half dozen footfalls scrambled to get out. Around the left side of the transport first came the figure of a French witch, her short red hair cropped near the chin, green eyes searching for the source of the words. Another French witch joined her, long dark brown hair in two braids. A wide smile appeared on Aaron’s face for he knew who they were. _It may have been a while since I last saw them on that sub, but I never forget a face or voice._ He noted their matching uniforms, dark blue tops with white undershirts and black ties, the black nylon stockings that came up to the hamstrings, and shiny black shoes, shrugging his shoulders at remembering how they looked in those obnoxiously huge green GI shirts. “Je dois admettre qu’Amélie et Juliette, vous avez toutes les deux l’air bien en bleu (I have to admit Amelie and Juliette, you both look good in blue).”

Planchard and Deveraux leveled their gazes at him and their mouths simultaneously opened in shock and happiness. Nearly breathless, they ran towards him, screaming like rabid fans upon seeing their favorite act onstage, “Aaron!” The warlock power walked forward, arms open wide to embrace them. The French pair grabbed a hold of him and gave him as hard of a hug as they could. “You’re a lieutenant now?” Amelie observed, noting the silver bars on his collar. “When did that happen?”

“Not too long ago I think.” Juliette conjectured. “They haven’t even be stained by powder marks yet.”

“Oh my Lord, if it isn’t our old goalie.” a voice called out from near the vehicle. Divale looked away from the clinging ladies and merely shook his head in disbelief upon seeing Wilma, Hanna, and Elizabeth standing to. The head of the bunch, Wilma, wore her old uniform it its entirety, the front zipped all the way down, revealing a white T-shirt. Rudel eschewed her trenchcoat due to the climate and replaced it with a white blouse, but she still wore the black gloves and hat. As for Beurling, she too replaced her cold weather sweater for a blouse, but hers was cut a bit lower, revealing more of her chest. “You recall anything from that night?” Elizabeth added.

“Apart from me dancing the night away with Wilma’s mother, not much.” Aaron admitted, letting go of Planchard and Deveraux. “How have you all been?”

“Not bad.” the German major answered, absentmindedly flexing the fingers on her right hand. “However, there was a bit of a issue on the way here with public displays of affection.”

Wilma’s eyes lit up with annoyance. “For the last time Hanna, it was just a peck on the cheek!” she shot back in an exasperated tone.

“And besides, when you love someone who you’ve have hardly seen due to this bloody war, you’ll want to let them know you love them too.” a male voice chimed in. A split second later, Captain Edmund Peterborough emerged, putting his left arm over his wife’s shoulder and tipping his officer’s cap in Divale’s direction with his right hand. “Lieutenant Divale eh?” he remarked. “You’re moving up in the world.”

While seeing the red headed captain brought him joy, the warlock cocked his eyebrows and stated, “Now I can see this being a problem already, especially for my beauty sleep and virgin ears.”

“I call bullshit on that.” a young voice with a southern accent declared. Aaron chuckled as Staff Sergeant Audie Murphy entered the ever expanding fray, his boots hardly making a dent in the height disparity department and right on his heels came Aurora Juutilainen looking very uncomfortable.

“My God this heat!” she exclaimed. “Do you folks have any sunscreen?”

Murphy nodded and reached into his back pants pocket. He pulled out a plastic tube with red lettering and handed it over. “I don’t use this at all considering that I’m already protected.” Audie stated. “You can have it. Pardon my language but the damn stuff is like paint so be careful applying it.” 

While all this was going on, both Pottgen and Marseilles stood there spellbound as each and every person that came out of that transport apparently knew the warlock quite well. Rai merely rubbed the side of her head, trying in vain to make sense of it all. Hanna meanwhile clenched her jaw tight and stared at Edytha, who oversaw this impromptu reunion, a theory already maturing rapidly in her skull. _Oh you think you’re so fucking slick don’t you? Volunteers? Fucking lies! This is an attempt to get me replaced! And what better way to do that by bringing in people who’ll know and follow my would be successor? Got it all figured out, you and Rommel, but there’s one thing you’ve neglected to factor into your calculations: Me. And I will make you pay dearly for that mistake._

Unable to take the presence of some many of his friends all gathered in one place unexpectedly, Aaron backtracked, his brain still struggling to process how in the world the odds worked out in getting them all here. “So all eight of you are here now with me in North Africa. This is quite the development.” An awkward silence followed as everyone looked at each other nervously. Out of the corner of his eye, General Rommel furrowed his brow and walked over to the back of the transport. Divale was about to do the same, but Neumann intercepted him, placing herself between him and the quickest path.

“There’s actually nine.” Edytha clarified, looking over her shoulder to check on Erwin’s position.

“Shy eh?” the warlock conjectured. “There’s nothing to be apprehensive about at all here.”

“In her case Lieutenant Divale, it’s you who she’s apprehensive about.” Rommel said. His words made Aaron furrow his brow in thought. _Who the hell could it be then? Can’t be someone that knows me for they would know that I’m not going to hurt them._ After a second or two of seeing the general beckon the hesitant individual out using his hands, he then reached up and took hold of something. Pulling down and away to where he could see, Divale gazed upon a long teak gun case with a brass carrying handle. It was well made and his eyes were about to move away from it when they noticed a detail that made his heart stop and blood freeze. In the upper left hand corner was a carved symbol, the etches rimmed with gold and silver inlay. It was a design that Aaron had definitely seen before and one that he hoped to never behold again, that of a diamond, a large X with the center being dominated by a grinning skull. Above and to the sides were thin I’s with two crossed axes at the bottom. There was no mistaking what he saw. _The Thirteenth Legion?! Oh no! They didn’t-_ His thought died as a black gloved hand took hold of the side of the canvas covering and used it to steady herself as she jumped off. Aaron’s heartbeat raced with fear with every step taken by black combat booted feet. Three hard palpitations later, a woman rounded the corner. She was young, probably not much older than he was, with a light complexion to her face, short light brown hair, and wearing aviators to protect the eyes from sun glare. Her attire was ill suited to the desert, a black uniform top with red stripes going down the sides, starting at the shoulders going all the way down to the terminus point of the equally black pants. The heraldry of the Thirteenth Legion was evident on the buttons, cuff links, and up towards the right breast, a silver medal worn like a brooch.

“You.” Aaron spat out with hatred, his world becoming a shade of red.

The woman directed her attention at his orbs and removed her sun glasses, regarding him fearfully with her cat’s eyes, one blue and the other hazel as Erwin noted the tension and proclaimed, “The last of our new additions to the 31st JFS, Helga Von Kreiger.”

Marseilles took it all in, witnessing the standoff with a mixture of unease and anticipation. _How do they know each other? Whatever and however that is, they clearly have differences, conflicts that could be the way I keep a hold of my command._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fully re-strengthened, the 31st JFS is given their first mission: to seek and destroy a collection of listening posts in the area around El Alamein. Lieutenant Marseilles starts hatching her plan to sow seeds of discontent, a scheme that nearly falls apart later that evening in a drunken rant, revealing much more to a certain warlock than she ever thought possible.

**_ **Chapter VII: The Hellion** _ **

**_ _ **

_In matters of diplomacy, it is vitally important to not just expect dissent, but to understand why dissent is put forth in the first place. War is no different according to Sun Tzu who was correct in stating that the key to winning is to know the enemy as well as yourself. However, that implies something that I rarely come across in such negotiations: the ability to separate who you are and who you project yourself to be, for the two are not the same and could spell doom to any would be compromise. Can it be done? Yes. But how is the ultimate question._

Diary Entry August 25th 1940

Helga sat in the back row, last seat on the right, her gun case resting comfortably in the seat immediately off to her left. She ran her hands through her short brown hair and rubbed her tired eyes. _It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent nights sleep, and it looks like I won’t be getting any anytime soon._ Suddenly, she heard a tapping sound in front of her and looked to see where it was coming from. In front of her sat Lieutenant Marseilles, her right hand tapping against the metal at odd intervals. It didn’t take long for Von Kreiger to figure out that she was trying to communicate with her in morse code. (I know that warlock of ours didn’t give you the proper welcome that you deserved, but rest assured that I have your back.) she morsed. The former lieutenant took the message in and her weary eyes absentmindedly scoured the room. Inside the 31st HQ, everyone was looking for a seat to claim as their own, talking among themselves, catching up on old times before the strategy meeting that both General Rommel and Air Commander Neumann called for. Many of the new recruits, or volunteers they called themselves, she didn’t know and very few of them even talked with her during the transfer process across the desert. _Only that Murphy fellow opened up, though I’m sure it was because he just wanted to be friendly and to let me know that the past was the past, even though some of my men did kill some of his. Then of course, he’s not the only person in this room I’ve wronged. There’s also that Captain Peterborough and…_ Her thoughts didn’t even have to graze her memories of Aaron in order to cause her bowel loosening distress, but her peepers gravitated to him. Divale sat in the front row, his bulk taking up the last seat on the left, directly opposite the position she had. Despite, his back being turned and being as far away as he could be, Helga could feel the heat of his anger and rage emanating like a wildfire from his body and apparently so could everyone else for they gave him a wide berth, even going so far as to leave the next three seats around him in all directions empty.

She couldn’t blame him for it or for any aspect of his behavior towards her. _I made that man’s life miserable on not one but two occasions and I’m probably the first to do so and live to tell the tale… so far._ Helga’s mind traveled back those near sleepless days and nights as she awaited her trial in mid April. The evidence against them was overwhelming. Treason of the highest order, capital murder, threatening national security during times of war, part and party to an attempted violent coup, conspiracy to commit further acts of murder, conspiracy to commit kidnapping, all these were just a few of the more serious charges brought against the survivors of the Thirteenth Legion Many of her fellows who had surrendered confidently expressed that they would be exonerated for their supposed crimes as, under the law, a group such as theirs while in the employ of any state official who was actively carrying out their duties, couldn’t be charged with treason. They all made that point perfectly clear to the judge who presided over the case. ‘Even then’, they claimed, ‘they’re even letting us hire a lawyer. You have nothing on us and you know it’. Von Kreiger wisely kept her mouth shut. She found that detail a bit odd, but after a bit of thinking, she determined that a mercenary band wouldn’t or even couldn’t qualify under the military laws when it came to being wholly tried by a military tribunal. It was a relatively minor detail, but an important one nevertheless. _If it were the other way around, a lawyer would be appointed for us and we could’ve used that against them if we could determine that we were being given ineffective counsel._ During the process of discovery for their case, all documents relating to the exchange of information and monetary assets were collated and distributed to the persecution and defense, a tome that eclipsed nine hundred pages. The direct negotiations with Maloney were placed in a separate file, along with further collaborating information.

The opening statement for the defense ran along the same lines that many, but not her shared, that they were in the employ of a state official which precluded them from punishment. It was a rambling action, taking the better part of seven minutes, but the judge allowed it to continue. When the turn for the prosecution came up, the lawyer cracked his knuckles and smiled, as if he was assured that this would be an open and shut case. He began by restating the defense’s position, but then, dropped a bomb on the whole argument. ‘According to the documents on hand to the court, the defense, and myself, the evidence seems to strongly point to the conclusion that former Air Chief Marshall Trevor Maloney was in the process of formalizing his retirement from the British military, and, under the law, any member of the armed services who undertakes said process is to be automatically stripped of many official state duties and or heavily restricted in others, pending the conclusion. The ability to contact other functioning entities for the purpose of conducting an undercover operation on domestic soil during times of war falls under those that are stripped. In conclusion, this makes the former Air Chief Marshall Trevor Maloney’s agreement with the Thirteenth Legion one built on a multitude of falsehoods thereby making the actions of said Thirteenth Legion illegal and thus subject to punishment under the fullest extent of the law.’

By the time the last syllable of the last word of that statement finished echoing around the courtroom, Helga sprung up in her seat and demanded to forward a guilty plea on behalf of her behalf, throwing herself upon the mercy of the court. The move drew jeers and resounding boos from her men, but the judge allowed it, remanding her back to her cell for the duration of the trial. Her head hung low, lower than what should’ve been humanly possible. She honestly thought that was it for her, that the only thing she could look forward to was the black sash tied over eyes as she was lead to the firing squad. Before she was shuttled back to her confines, her escorts received new orders and was instead taken to see the head of the MP’s. The old scarred veteran shoved a paper at her and told her, ‘You have a way out traitor. I suggest you take it’. It turned out to be a penal service order. In exchange for her services, albeit at the much lower rank of private, she could effect a stay of execution, a fate that could be fully discharged if her new superiors felt that she earned it. _Of course I took it. I didn’t want to die._ Helga was sent out to North Africa shortly before the verdict came down, guilty on all counts and sentenced to death by firing squad. A motion to appeal by the defense was outright denied. Turning her attention back to Lieutenant Marseilles’ offer, she morsed back (Thank you. I’m going to need it.)

Footsteps drew the attention of all as Air Commander Neumann walked to the front, flanked by General Rommel. All remained politely silent as the witch cleared her throat and began, “Good morning everyone, I am Air Commander Edytha Neumann, and I would like to start things off by saying welcome to all our new volunteers and recruits. Your addition to the 31st JFS is much appreciated. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” She paused for a few seconds for expected applause and she received it in spades. Looking over everyone, a smile creased her face, the sounds of clapping traveling throughout the room. _So eager to serve despite all the troubles one can find here. Remarkable._ For a brief moment, Edytha caught sight of Aaron, who was also participating in the welcoming, but clear halfheartedly, his posture telling her all she needed to know about his present mood. _I don’t like it either lieutenant, but hang in there._ “I wish there was more time for us to get to know each other better, but unfortunately circumstances have moved beyond our control. The past twenty four hours have seen us pushed to the brink of annihilation. Great sacrifices were made to preserve our position here yesterday morning. We weathered the storm and struck back at the enemy later last night, but our campaign still hangs on by the skin of it’s teeth, even with the reinforcements that have arrived. The war for North Africa is about to enter a new phase, and for that, I turn it over to my colleague General Rommel.”

Stepping aside, Erwin smiled and gave a sight bow of thanks as he shifted into the same spot that the witch vacated. He breathed in deep and reached into his coat pocket, producing a small stack of yellow papers. Clearing his throat, Rommel started, “When the esteemed air commander remarked upon great sacrifices being made yesterday, she wasn’t exaggerating. A full forty percent plus of our forces won’t be getting back up again or anytime in the foreseeable near future. However, as our sortie against the enemy depots last evening demonstrated, it is imperative that we not only let them know that we’re still here, alive, and kicking, we need to wrest the momentum from them, with all the force we can muster. Against Neuroi, this wouldn’t even be an issue, however, this foe is more integrated with human elements than we would like to admit. Conventional strategies simply will not work in surprising them. We need to think more radically. To that end, both Air Commander Neumann and I have decided that the 31st JFS is to be split from the main body of the Afrika Corps and given fully autonomy to conduct multiple operations throughout the enemy’s flank and rear. Search and rescue, assassination, sabotage, search and destroy, if you can think it, you can do it. However, command has the absolute authority to call upon the 31st to take part in events that have direct impact on the security of the front.” Gasps and whispers of awe went around the room as the general paused to take a quick breath. Lieutenant Marseilles was the most animated of them all, smiling and clenching her fists in anticipation. “Now Lieutenant,” Erwin pointed out solemnly, “while I deeply understand that you wish to prove yourself and the unit to others, I must remind you that it wasn’t easy attracting the talented group assembled here.”

“Yes General Rommel.” Hanna answered confidently. “I will make doubly sure that nothing ill befalls us in our endeavor.” She then had a random thought and added with concern, “I understand the Mr. Cronkite had been admitted to the field hospital. Is he alright?”

“Mr. Cronkite is currently suffering from an acute onset of shell shock” Edytha responded. “The doctors say that it’s quite serious and he’ll need to be confined to bed rest for the next few weeks.” Neumann saw her subordinate’s mood plummet to the doldrums, the confidence bottom out into melancholy. “However, we all know that getting the word out to the folks back home is very important. I’ve found a more than adequate replacement.” She then extended her right arm in the direction of Raisa and inquired, “Pilot Officer Pottgen, how are your photography skills?”

All eyes shifted to Rai who stood up out of her chair out of instinct rather than need and replied, “Up to the task and more air commander.”

“Good to hear.” Neumann acknowledged. “Your equipment will be given to you at the conclusion of this meeting.”

General Rommel waited until the German witch sat back down and proceeded further with the main crux of the gathering. “The first mission that I’m charging the 31st with is the silencing of key listening posts on the outermost southern fringes of El Alamein. Our communication spies managed to isolate and triangulate several signal bursts, the coordinates of which are here in my hands.” He held up the papers as a point of emphasis and continued. “Since these sites are fairly close to each other, we’ve organized other strike groups who will aid you in this operation. Timing and discretion is crucial here. If you aren’t quick enough to disrupt communications, they could get a message out, throwing a wrinkle into the grand plan.” Erwin stepped back from the podium and looked over at Neumann who shook her head in the negative, indicating that she had nothing further to add. “Now,” he ventured, scanning the room, “does anyone here have any questions or concerns before we adjourn?”

A lone muscular arm rose up, an appendage that lead down to the indifferent stare that Aaron was giving the general. “I do General Rommel.” he declared without a hint of emotion.

The German officer visibly grew tense and straightened out his posture and face. “Approach the podium and voice your concerns.”

Pushing himself up, the warlock’s bulk made the wooden seat creak and groan to the point of shattering, but it miraculously held together and Divale slowly trudged up to the platform, his boots clunking hard on the floor. His eyes moved slowly over his superior’s, noting their unease. _Don’t worry you two, my problems aren’t with you lot._ When he finally got up to the lectern, Aaron cleared his throat, the lips contorting like a mimes. “Apart from a choice few,” he started off, “I know each and every person here. Some of you were in times of war, and for the others, not so much. Regardless, I doubt none of your abilities, except for yours.” At the end of the word ‘yours’ Divale leveled his gaze squarely at Helga. “What is it that you do do Private Von Kreiger?”

“From the files on hand-” General Rommel attempted to explain, but was abruptly cut off by the aforementioned private, who stood up in her seat, grabbing a hold of her gun case.

“With respect General Rommel,” she politely offered, ‘I can answer for myself.”

All was quite save for a haughty humph from the warlock, regarding her with an apathetic disdain. “Then come on up.” he offered, gesturing with his right hand. “Illuminate me.”

Edytha tried to dissuade Helga from accepting he proposal, but the woman was off and walking, taking measured steps towards him. Her hand moved absentmindedly to her side, her pistol bearing side, even though her mind was screaming at her that it was no use. _He’s so quick that by the time you draw it, he’ll be having his way with her._ She watched as Divale shifted his position ever so slightly, bending his knees and spine, moving his hands off to the furthest corners of the wooden podium, fingers rubbing against the grain in small circles. Aaron’s breathing slowed down to the point where Neumann was convinced that he ceased doing so, the occasional eye movement the only sign that he was still alive.

Von Kreiger stopped within spitting distance of Divale, looking up at him defiantly, a fact that amused Aaron and filled him with curiosity. _Now where did you get that backbone Helga? Who have you been talking too?_ “In my former unit, we had rigorous tests that all recruits had to pass, exams that pushed the limits of our physical and mental endurance. I’ll have you note that I passed all of them with flying colors, especially those concerning marksmanship, tracking, and subterfuge.” she elaborated.

Aaron then raised both his hands and clapped three times slowly, a staggered applause. When he finished, he nodded. “I have no doubt that your good at the last ability you mentioned and the second I could give two shits about. In regards to your marksmanship, I can tell that from a mile away. You have the killer’s hands, much like your father, but a sniper without a gun is just a bully with a big mouth.” He shifted his gaze towards the gun case that Helga had off to her left side and ordered, “Show us what you’ve got.”

Von Kreiger’s eyes flashed with anger at the mention of her family’s dead patriarch, but subdued her rage by hefting the case and opening it, displaying it like an auctioneer’s assistant would a priceless antique. Aaron didn’t have to lean forward an iota to see the rifle inside. It was a bolt action, the mechanisms finely polished and greased, the walnut stock lacquered with waterproofing, and the initial brass stripper clip off in its own recessed niche off to the right side, far away from the receiver. The moment his eyes caught sight the tangent style rear sight, Divale knew what kind of rifle it was. _Mauser M98. Very reliable and very accurate gun._ Something curious and off putting made him furrow his brow. At the tip of the barrel were several deep gouges running right to left, pitting and scoring the metal. _Now that’s odd. Looks like it got grated by-_

A bright light and room disappears, at least to the untrained eye. Day is now night, the thick floorboards looking like slabs of copper in the pale moonlight flowing freely from a broken stained glass window, the fragments twinkling like gemstones. Rough stone and mortar walls surround all and high above, a single massive bell could be seen, swaying ever so gently. Memories click into place regarding the present confines. It was a church bell tower, the smell of summer wafting through the gaping maw. Something else lingers in the air too, the harsh nose wrinkling sourness of piss and the cloying acrid tinge of blood. Peripheral locates the sources of the odors, a large ocean of steaming urine, most of it seeping through the cracks in the floor with tiny droplet sized islands of clotting blood surrounding it. More dripped from an unseen rain cloud, plocking onto the floor. Eyes shift up, and soon come face to face with a body, or what remained of it, that of a cloaked old man, the face and posterior awfully close together, the insides and eyeballs slowly falling out like the ingredients of an overstuffed sandwich. A rifle is present, the weapon shoved forcefully up through the anus, piercing the now dead man from tailbone to trachea. The butt protruded from the rear end while the barrel came out of the mouth, flecks of internal organ glazing the metal, several teeth hanging on by threads of sinew. Both visible ends were held in place by a massive pair of hands, the palms and knuckles slick with viscera and vitae. Suddenly, the hands of the cadaver twitch, but they trigger no response, for a brain computed them to be post mortem spasms. Another though races through a mind still pulsating with anger and righteous indignation of a past far too close for comfort. A piece of sanity plead for leniency, to walk away from the grisly scene and leave this place for good. However, saneness was in the minority. Emotional instability and ire reigned supreme and barked out order that the worked up psyche wanted to hear. Do what must be done. Make him an example. Make all of them an example. Muscles kick in and long arms lift the cored corpse high into the air and shoves it against the stone frame of the window, but the barrel was too long. With a grunt and a shove, the rock gives.

Helga watched the warlock stare at the rifle for a long time, saying nothing at all. She was about to say something when Aaron’s eyes flicked up and Von Kreiger felt the icy cold embrace of fear grip her heart as the woman saw flashes of lightning in those bronze orbs, letting her know that he knew that weapon well. “Nice gun.” Divale casually commented, reaching out with his hand and politely closing the case. He immediately turned to Rommel and Neumann and asked, “If I may, I would like to say something in private. A little piece of advice if truth be told.” The general and air commander looked at each other and reluctantly gave him permission to do so with the slightest of nods. Aaron focused on Helga and beckoned her to lean in close. Every fiber of her being told her not to do so, but the private complied with the request. Once the pair were close enough to speak without anyone overhearing them, Divale started things off. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to show up here with that thing.” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“It still works.” Helga retorted in a low voice, the jitters of being so close to him long gone. “And besides, you can’t do a fucking thing to me now Aaron and you know it.”

“I do know.” Divale replied. “Just like I know that I have no choice in the matter. You’re in the same unit with me now and I must accept it.” He rolled his shoulders and swallowed deep before continuing. “But I want you to know something right here Helga Von Kreiger. They might not know who you are, but I do, as well as two other people here, and you can bet your bottom dollar that we don’t trust you worth a God damn. We’ve got our eyes on you. The first time you escaped me, I was too emotionally compromised to connect the dots. The next instance was due to a crisis of conscience. I hope you stay on your best behavior here because so help me God, the third time you try to fuck with me,” He paused and made a ring with his left index and thumb while shoving his first two fingers of his right hand through it forcefully only once. “like father, like daughter.”

****************

The desert sun beat down mercilessly on the group of four women, their rifles trained on a patrol of enemy soldiers who were standing by a machine gun nest near a tiny hovel that could easily have passed for a remote homestead if it were for the small antenna that protruded from a small hole that had been drilled into the roof, long wires covered with white linens snaking into and through windows and around open doors. They had been lying down on canvas mats for the better part of half an hour, watching the foe from five hundred yards out and waiting for the signal to take them all down. Amelie breathed in deep, relaxing her posture just a tad so that her muscles wouldn’t lock up. _It’s one of the worst feelings in the world. One second you’re perfect fine, and the next, you couldn’t move an inch to save your life._ Planchard looked to her right, making sure that everyone in the fire team was alright. She was one the extreme left, Deveraux to her immediate side followed by Juutilainen and finally Von Kreiger, who anchored the right flank. Juliette and Helga were as cool as the other side of a pillow, but Aurora was having a devil of a time keeping still. The Finnish witch was fidgeting every few seconds or so, the oppressive heat making her humor disappear. To combat the blaze, she applied that Red Vet Pet sunblock all over her exposed skin. Almost half a tubes worth of thick red paste was smeared over the tops of the hands, the back of the neck, and every square inch of her pale face, making her look like a kubuki theater actor in full oni makeup. Some of it still lingered on her right hand, her shooting hand, despite all efforts to get it off. “Fuck me this heat.” Aurora panted, practically dying. “I’m sweating like a whore in church.”

“They actually don’t sweat much at all.” Helga suddenly piped up, licking her dry lips. “Even in confession they don’t.” Everyone stared at her once she made that statement. Up until that point, the former Thirteenth Legion member was silent during the trip out into the wastes, not so much as making eye contact with anyone.

“How on earth do you know that?” Juliette asked, looking over her right shoulder.

“I was member of the clergy back in Austria,” the private answered, “in addition to the police.”

“A member of the cloth with a tin star.” Amelie remarked. “Very cushy professions. Good pension plans. Why did you leave it all behind?”

“Rather not discuss that.” Von Kreiger replied, looking down at her time piece. “Touchy subject if you know what I mean.”

Amelie let the matter drop, not wanting to ruffle feathers and all went quiet again, but not for long. “Speaking of touchy,” Aurora commented, clearly agitated by now, “what the fuck is the hold up? Haven’t the other groups got into position yet?”

“Maybe they’re having difficulties.” Deveraux suggested, trying to get her to calm down. “Some of those sites were in pretty bad areas.”

“Well, it’s a pretty bad area here too.” Juutilainen retorted, getting cross. “I didn’t volunteer for this assignment to get broiled to death.” She looked over at Von Kreiger and shook her head in wonder. “I also don’t know how in the hell you could wear black in this heat and not wilt.”

“Thin material.” Helga explained. “Lighter clothes allow your skin to breath better. You might want to switch out your uniform for something else when we get back to base.”

Suddenly, the communicators of all four women crackled to life. “All units this is Lieutenant Marseilles speaking.” Hanna’s voice rang loud and clear. “Pick your targets and prepare to commence operations in thirty seconds. Marseilles out.”

The line barely had enough time to go dead before they had their sights retrained on their targets. One by one, they called out their shots. Amelie chose the man at the machine gun, Juliette the one smoking, Aurora opted for the one shaving, while Helga picked out the radio man. The private slowed her breathing and couldn’t help but notice the notches on the tip of the barrel. Her heart sank as memories of her father and brother came back, memories of times before she joined the Thirteenth Legion. _They were better times, times where he and I would play in the hills while pop would smoke his pipe. In the summer we would go down to Italy near Venice and go swimming on the beach. Damn I miss them both._

“Get ready to fire ladies.” Amelie ordered, speaking without taking her eyes off her mark. “In three, two, one, fire!” Four index fingers squeezed four triggers to the point where four bullets came out of four barrels in unison. The enemy didn’t even had enough time to react before all four shots hit home, except for one. Courtesy of the Red Det Pet, Aurora’s finger slipped on the trigger to where the tip rather than the meat of her finger pulled the trigger. While it still fired, this effected her aim, throwing the munition completely awry. The lone survivor managed to not only witness the demise of his comrades, but also process that they were being attacked, instinctively hunkering down and pulling the lifeless corpse of the radioman towards him and the safety of the sandbags. Frantically, the witch tried to reaim for another shot, but the man was moving erratically.

“Fuck! Can so-” Juutilainen began to yell, but her words were cut off by another shot from Helga, who had thankfully noticed what had happened and fired. The three witches looked on as the bullet whizzed through the air. At first, it looked to have been a miss as it veered towards the ground, but Von Kreiger did that one purpose. Slightly hidden due to the sand was the piece of polished metal that the soldier who was shaving had held before it got tossed by the jolt of death. The round struck the plate, bounced up at an angle, and buried itself underneath the chin of the last man, burrowing up through jaw, tongue, palette, and brain pan. He let go of the radio man, the force of impact causing him to stand up for an instant before crumpling into a heap. The world went quiet for but an instant, the sound of Helga racking the bolt to her Mauser sounding a lot louder than it should.

Amelie recovered from the shock first, remembering what to do after this. She pressed the send stud on her communicator and said, “All tangos down. Repeat, all tangos down. Over.”

“Standby for confirmation.” another voice rang over the radio waves, one she vaguely recognized as belonging to Wilma.

**************

Elizabeth slowly scanned the compound from afar with a set of binoculars alongside her trusted wingman Rudel. After firing off their shots with the rest of the squadron, they immediately went to work confirming each and every kill. One by one, they found the bodies, logging them down with a simple penciled notch on a scrap piece of paper. _Let’s recall: Nine targets, four at the machine gun nest and five within. Of the five inside, two were near the door, one in the middle of the room, another off to the side that was a bitch to hit, even for Wilma, while the last seemed to be sleeping on a cot._ Beurling adjusted her position, the sun glare interfering with her work, getting off to the side of her taller friend. Hanna noticed it and quipped, “You could’ve said that you needed a sunblock.”

“I know,” Elizabeth admitted, “but I need to move around. Lying down for all that time killed my legs. Need to stretch them out.”

“Maybe you should’ve spent more time training them rather than your hands and arms with those twelve ounce curls you do most of the time.” Rudel retorted politely, adding another notch to the paper, making nine in total.

The Canadian made a face and went back to her duty grumbling internally. Ignoring the listening post as everyone was tagged, she shifted her vision over to the machine gun nest. The carnage was relatively sparse and the results spoke for themselves. Recalling where the others hunkered down, Elizabeth turned her attention to that and frowned. The four women were talking among themselves, the subject of choice being Von Kreiger from the looks of things. _Maybe making her feel at home? Or congratulations on a good shot?_ Shrugging it off, Beurling counted off the bodies and nonchalantly added them to the butcher’s bill, giving the thumbs up sign to Wilma who was hunched down with Marseilles and Pottgen in a small divot in the sand.

Nodding in understanding, Peterborough gently tapped her superior’s shoulder and reported, “Eyes say all tangos confirmed down.”

“Any reports from the other attack groups concerning the enemy getting a message out?” Marseilles asked, not wanting to walk into a secure building only to have it become a death trap some time later. Wilma held up her left hand and started morse coding across the full command channel, inquiring the encryption experts as to whether the enemy got a peep out to their high command. Several seconds went by and the witch shook her head in the negative, making Hanna breath a sigh of relief. Looking over at Raisa who smiled at a job well done, the lieutenant racked the bolt to her machine gun and commanded, “Get word out to the others. We go in and make ourselves at home.” _Now let’s hope this operation is worth it. Maybe the message logs will provide something of value. Our ladies and gentlemen have better things to do than to phase out listening posts._

*********

Audie Murphy continued to scrub his hands with water in the wash basin he found, scraping underneath his fingernails in order to get every last drop of blood off his digits. He hummed to himself as he did so, a mantra that he used to destress himself. His brain however was not in a cooperative mood and kept switching gears on him. _Doesn’t wash out as well as this now does it Murphy? Should’ve took my time in lining up the shot. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to get up close and personal with my knife on that poor bastard._ Around ten minutes ago, he was part of one of the many concerted attacks on the listening posts that all took place simultaneously. His target, an enemy soldier no less than ten feet away from him, pissing up a storm, shifted at the worst possible time, causing Audie’s shot from his Welrod to miss. Thankfully, the gun made very little noise and the soldier kept on emptying his bladder. Murphy then tried to pull the bolt back, but the pistol jammed on him. That time, the noise was loud enough for the enemy to hear, leaving the American no choice but to drop the weapon, whip out his Bowie knife and jam it into the throat of the foe, making doubly sure that he didn’t call for help. Crimson spurted out of the mortal wound as well as the last dribbles of urine, coating his face, hands, and pant legs. He’d already cut off the affected cloth from his trousers with his knife and didn’t want to handle anything else before he cleaned himself up, especially the duffel bag full of communication reports that the post had received and transmitted in the past twenty four hours. _No clue if they’re any good, but we’ll find out soon enough._

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the last vestiges of vitae left his skin and Murphy dried them off with the back of his uniform. In a flash, he took up the duffel bag, slinging over his shoulder as he left the compound and emerged back into the desert heat where Edmund and Aaron waited for him, each one of them also carrying a bag full of enemy intelligence. “About time you came out.” Divale commented as Audie hurried on over. “If you took any longer, I would’ve had you cited for being AWOL.”

“Would you rather have dead man’s blood all over you?” Audie countered.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” the warlock replied, leaving it at that. The staff sergeant scampered over and stood at attention with the captain. He placed his hands on his hips, hands balled up into loose fists, making two large triangular shaped handles. “All aboard the Warlock Express!” he called out. The two men each took a hold of one as Aaron unfurled his wings, Edmund on the left and Audie on the right, taking care not to clip them. “Let Lieutenant Marseilles know that we’ll be back in roughly seven minutes Edmund.” he ordered, flapping his wings several times to gain altitude. With his free hand Peterborough started to make the call on his ear communicator while Murphy clenched hard with both hands on Divale’s arm, looking not so sure of this being a good idea.

“Have you ever done this before?” he ventured, doing his best not to look down at the rapidly shrinking world below his dangling feet.

“Plenty of times Murphy.” Aaron assured, righting himself and flying forwards. “You’ve got nothing to fear.”

“All assets accounted for and we’re proceeding to RTB.” Edmund reported on his comms to whomever was on the other side. “ETA seven minutes. How did things go over on your end? Over.” He paused, listening to the reply, nodding in understanding. Peterborough was about to say something when something that was said on the other end made him smile. “Love you too.” he whispered before cutting the link.

“What’s it like having a loved one on the front lines?” Murphy asked, trying to find anything that could take his mind off his present situation.

“Terrifying.” Edmund admitted. “She might be in a safe spot right now, but who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

“I knew the feeling.” Aaron chimed in, his voice trailing off as his memories wandered back to his recent past.

The captain immediately caught what he meant and gave the warlock’s left arm a squeeze, directing his attention square on him. “Still hung up?” he inquired, clearly concerned.

Divale broke his gaze, closed his eyes, and breathed out like he was annoyed, though in truth he was far from it. “Yeah.” he acknowledged, spitting the word out. “Every damn day it comes back, and having that Von Kreiger bitch here isn’t helping matters.”

“She didn’t pull the trigger Aaron.” the staff sergeant pointed out. “He brother did that.”

“But she stood there while it happened.” Divale growled back, his mood souring by the second.

Undeterred, Audie continued, “Regardless of how much of a broken record I sound like, you need to let this go. It isn’t healthy for you.”

“Hes absolutely right Aaron.” Edmund agreed. “It doesn’t do any good dwelling on a sore spot like that. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

The warlock narrowed his eyes at Murphy and pressed, “And how the fuck would you know what is and what isn’t health for me?”

A loaded question like that should’ve ended the conversation right then and there, but the young man didn’t seem to mind sticking his head into the lion’s mouth. “I was very close to my mother.” he stated solemnly. “She rarely talked to any of us, but when she did, she always made sure that we knew we were loved and appreciated. Other than those times, we didn't discuss our feelings. But when she passed away when I was sixteen, it was like I lost a piece of myself in the same ground she was buried in. For a good while, I was lost. Really impacted my service.”

“Like in Gotland?” Divale ventured, cocking his eyebrow.

The staff sergeant reluctantly nodded. “When the Neuroi hit and things went to shit, I truly believed that it was my time. Brushed off any attempt to get me to think otherwise. Nothing could dissuade me from staying behind and giving good account of myself before the end. Even when I had to seek shelter, I would look up at the sky and say, ‘I’m coming mama. I’ll see you soon.’. That thinking nearly got me killed several times over. When Edmund found me and managed to get me back, I’ll admit I was pretty angry with him. Didn’t so much as look at him for a good few days.” he recollected.

“Eventually you came around.” Peterborough stated, shifting the duffel bag to where it was more comfortable for him. He looked at Aaron and added, “Kind what you did after the whole Berlin episode.”

“Whoa there!” Audie exclaimed, not truly believing what he was presently hearing. “You were at Berlin?!”

“Yes I was.” Divale answered. “Rough time.”

“Not as rough as some you told me about.” Edmund pointed out with a sly wink and smile. Aaron looked over at the ginger captain and said nothing, but inside he knew exactly what he was referring to.

“What does he mean by that?” Murphy asked.

 _Oh Audie. Oh my dear dear southern man. You’ve stepped right into it._ “Over the course of my young life,” the warlock eloquently began, “I’ve been involved in several interesting scenarios, one of which involved me and a few members of the aristocracy in Bordeaux.”

*******************

Raisa looked up into the sky and squinted out the sun just enough to see the forms of Aaron and company getting closer and closer with every passing second. _Thank almighty God._ She had recently stepped out of the compound, the room in which Marseilles was obsessing over the enemy communiques to be more specific. Pottgen had tried to help her in decoding and sorting the piles of papers, a truly herculean task, made all the more difficult by nonstop raving and swearing by her friend. For minutes on end, the lieutenant would go on and on about how pointless this whole operation was and how they’d be better suited to engaging the enemy directly near El Alamein. When the pilot officer tried to politely remind Hanna about how this could be a blessing in disguise, it merely turned the situation that more hot. It got so bad that Raisa feigned needing to use the restroom just so she could escape without getting chewed out to death. _She’s not thinking straight. Something has her on edge and I need to find out what it is. Maybe I can use Aaron to help me._ Just as the thought came to her, the warlock and his entourage set down a few dozen feet away. Curiously enough, Murphy didn’t even wait for his feet to touch the ground before he released his grip, landing hard on the sand. He quickly threw off his duffel bag and practically sprinted off, not even looking back. “I that is how you become a man there Audie!” Aaron called out after the rapidly diminishing staff sergeant who returned the yell with a salute of the one finger variety.

Pottgen approached the remaining pair of Divale and Peterborough and inquired with a cocked eyebrow, “What was that all about?”

The captain was the first to explain. “Just illuminating the staff sergeant on different ways to extend foreign relations.” he stated.

“Indeed.” Aaron concurred. “Though, I might not have made certain stoppages crystal clear enough.” He grabbed the bag that Murphy left behind and looked around as if searching for something. “Where’s Marseilles?” he asked.

The witch gestured over to the building with her right arm. “She’s inside. First door in front of you when you finish navigating the hallway. You might want to hangout a bit longer though. Hanna’s not been in a good mood recently.” Raisa advised.

 _Oh, and I haven’t?_ Divale tapped Edmund on the shoulder and the captain nodded in understanding, taking the duffel bag off his shoulders and handing it over. Now, armed with three full bags of possibly valuable enemy intelligence reports, the warlock started to walk past Pottgen towards the listening post. Once the German realized what he was doing, she immediately fell in on the right next to him, matching his pace as best as she could. Aaron glanced over with his eyes and commented, “I’m old enough to where I don’t need a chaperone mom.”

“That’s what the last person said when he dropped in during a bad time.” Raisa replied pointedly. “You may not know her temper, but I do. She’s nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”

“Meeting and surviving grumpy women is my specialty.” Divale countered with a smile, tapping his chest as he said it. Pottgen said nothing as the pair walked through the open door. Inside, the place was clogged with sleeping cots, stacks of wooden ammo and gun crates, half empty boxes of supplies, and the usual paraphernalia of a habitable unit commandeered by soldiers. Despite the militarized nature of the dwelling, one could still see bits and pieces of its former purpose. The floor was nonexistent, just a heavily tamped down layer of sand that felt more like walking on a dirt road than anything else. A lone table and chair sat in the corner, piled high with boxes, while one could see broken slabs of three more seats shoved into a stone niche near a fire place, the coals cold and dormant. As for the chimney itself, it started wide at the bottom, hovering over the fireplace like a rubber stamper over an important document. It then tapered off as one went higher, but the curved several times before disappearing into the superstructure of the roof. Above his head, the wooden support beams could be plainly seen, the old timber drier than the desert, but strong as steel, the posts carrying the faint smell of smoke from numerous fires. Strangely enough, no matter where the warlock looked, there was no sign of what could be considered a kitchen. _Odd._ Regardless, Aaron had a job to do and was determined to see it through. He quickly found the hallway that Raisa spoke of and made beeline for it, his short companion not that far behind.

Seven steps was all he needed to reach the corner and his ears started to pick up the sounds of rustling papers, heaving breaths, and various choice swear words uttered in German coming from behind a thin door. Divale looked askance at Rai who sighed out of resignation rather than relief. Apparently, Marseilles was right at the portal for she immediately barked, “Who is it?! If it’s Aaron he’d better get his a-”

The warlock didn’t even wait for the lieutenant to finish her sentence for he grabbed the door knob, turned it, and flung the door open without so much as a care, damn, or fuck. It surprised the living daylights out of Pottgen who nearly yelped in terror. However, the shock registered with Hanna the most for she was within inches of getting her face smacked. Aaron looked at her and noticed that she was definitely agitated. Her hair was a blond mess, the eyes darting this way and that, and the upper buttons to her uniform were opened, thin beads of stress induced sweat visible on the neck. Behind her was a very small room with one window on the opposite wall, a solitary file cabinet in the left hand corner, and a desk smack dab in the middle stacked with papers so thick and tall that it made phone books and Bibles look like magazines. Some were scattered on the floor, a few crumpled up into balls or torn to pieces. On the far right hand side of the wall was a picture of a sailboat on a river, the crew casting fishing nets over the side. “Already present Lieutenant Marseilles.” Divale stated without so much as an apology. “I have the bounties from the other posts with me right here.”

Hanna looked at the three duffel bags and a spark flashed within her eyes. “Did you get any that might be useful?” she frantically queried.

Aaron furrowed his brow in confusion. “Have no idea.” he admitted. “There wasn’t enough time to check-”

His response set something off within the witch, and that something was far from good. Screaming in frustration, Marseilles walked right up to him and bellowed through gritted teeth, “How the fuck are we supposed to figure out if this whole fucking operation was worth it if you don’t check up on what you get?! I’m running a very important action and your lack of motivation isn’t helping matters!”

Despite the fact that Aaron didn’t have his wings unfurled, the outburst from his superior was enough to ruffle his feathers. With rage in his heart and eyes, he stabbed out with his right index and middle finger like a knife and poked the lieutenant square in the chest, knocking her off him a fraction of an inch and proceeded to repeatedly jab her as he roared back at her, “From what I recall (poke), you (poke) ordered me and the rest (poke) of us that as soon as we (poke) got done with clearing them out (poke), that we (poke) had to RTB ASAP (poke)! So what (poke) the fuck (poke) is up your ass (poke)?!” With one last mighty thrust, Divale sent Hanna back on her heels. She flailed her arms to right herself, but it was no use. Like a teetering boulder on a mountainside, she slowly wobbled, stood still for a split second, and went backwards onto the top of the desk, the impact sending scores of papers everywhere. Within seconds of landing, it looked like it was raining pages. The force of Marseilles’ landing was also great enough to knock the picture off the side of the wall, sending it falling to the floor.

It was at this point that things took a turn for the bizarre. As the frame hit the ground, one would expect it to bury itself into the sand, like a knife tip into a tree stump, but it didn’t. Instead, it hit the tamped sand floor with a clunk, shattering the glass and snapping the frame in two parts. Everyone in the room heard that sound, a noise that had no business being there, and exclaimed in unison, “What the fuck?”

Marseilles bent herself forwards on the desk, getting into a sitting position, eyes trained on where the picture fell. “Check it.” she commanded, sliding off the piece of furniture, her derriere trailing scraps of paper.

Aaron sprung into action, unfurling his wings as he walked briskly over to the crash site. Using them as brooms, he pushed the sand and now ruined picture away, the tips of his feathers digging in like plow heads. It didn’t take long for a thick wooden door of some kind, built into the floor to appear, a large abraded brass ring lodged in a pitted recessed chamber made of the same material. “Well now,” Divale commented, gazing at the find in wonder, “this could be something.”

“A dangerous something.” Raisa whispered. “There could be enemy soldiers down there or even an explosive charge set to detonate. We should evacuate right now as a precaution.”

Hanna looked up at the warlock and asked, “Can you tell from here?”

“Stand back.” Aaron advised and the witches immediately did so. He gingerly got on his knees, taking great care not to put any weight on the door, and placed his right hand on top of it, aligning it dead center. A faint blue glow rimmed his palm, but that was just to allay his friend’s fears. _Why use magic when you can simply ask someone who can find out?_ “You see anything in there?” he subvocalized, uttering the words in such a low voice that no one could hear except one other.

“Nothing bad,” Ismenoth replied in the same tone calmly, her voice echoing as if they were in a cave, “though I do suggest you get a move on. Dinner’s about to burn.”

“It’s clear.” Divale assured, grabbing the metal ring with three fingers and pulling up. The door hinges creaked as the portal to wherever opened, revealing a small flight of stone steps leading down and to the left. A smell rushed out to meet them, one of something cooking, something meaty and fragrant. Both Germans rushed near him, Pottgen brandishing a lit flashlight. She went in first, followed by Marseilles, the warlock taking up the rear. It was a thin passage with a low ceiling leading down, the walls made of wood planks that had cracked in places, piles of sand indicating that it had leaked at some point. All the while, the odor got stronger and stronger.

“How in the world did we miss this?” Raisa stated, shaking her head as the beam was whisked this way and that.

“Even the best can’t find everything.” Hanna answered, doing her best to navigate the stairs without falling headfirst. _These steps are hardly sized correctly. One false move and you’re a goner._ “Be careful.” she warned, deciding that placing her hands out against the rough walls was a good idea. “These steps are treacherous.”

A loud bump followed by a guttural curse later and Aaron further elaborated while rubbing his sore noggin, “And mind the ceiling.” The trio proceeded down into the depths for a few more seconds before finally reaching what could be called the basement floor. It went down into the earth for about six feet in total, and had the same wooden plank walls all around except these weren’t cracked in any way that they could see. Immediately to their left and right were stacks of boxes and half pried open crates, several crowbars resting nearby. The source of the wonderful smell revealed itself as a tiny fire pit, the coals smoldering away slow and low and a metal lattice erected over the top that held a pot and a frying pan, bubbling and sizzling respectively. Though the accommodations weren’t built with his frame in mind, Divale lumbered forwards, putting his double jointedness to use in weaving around his compatriots. Looking down into the pot and pan, he could see in the low light provided by the coals and Pottgen’s flashlight that it was a heavy dinner of pasta with tomato sauce and meatballs. Whipping his head around, the warlock located a metal spoon and quickly took the cookware off the heat, the pain barely registering on his calloused hands. “Good thing we arrived when we did or else this would’ve gone bye bye.”

“Or burned the place down in our sleep.” Hanna remarked, looking over at the crates.

Raisa planted the flashlight into the sand at an angle, the beam acting as a sort of guide rather than a true source of illumination, and trotted over to the feast that Aaron was busily stirring and double checking to see if it was fully cooked or still edible. Inhaling deeply, she smiled as the sauce and meat odors commingled to produce a mouthwatering sensation. “That’s absolutely divine.” she stated almost dreamily. Then a thought raced through he head and she hastily added, “Is it poisoned?”

Divale took a piece of one of the meatballs with his fingers and dipped it into the sauce. He popped it into his mouth and chewed several times before swallowing. He sighed in happiness and regarded the pilot officer with a smirk, “If you poisoned includes made with love and care, then this fits the bill. These guys must have been Italian in a previous life because they [] knew how to make the sauce right.”

“You might not be far off the mark lieutenant.” Marseilles agreed, rummaging through one of the crates. After a split second of searching, she produced a bottle of wine, the label clearly in Italian. “And there’s a lot more where that came from. A true Italian dinner just for us.” she beamed.

“Now while I believe in the phrase, ‘finders keepers’, there’s plenty to share.” Aaron pointed out.

Hanna’s face soured at the insinuation and snapped, “That wasn’t my intention!” To quell her anger, she reached out, took up a meatball with her right hand, and popped the whole thing in her mouth. “This is magnificent.” she uttered, flakes of food coming out with every syllable as she tried to talk and masticate at the same time. “No fucking clue how they got chickens here, but they certainly did know how to cook them right.”

“It isn’t chicken.” Divale explained, gesturing with the sauce covered spoon to the left of the fire pit. The witch’s eyes traveled to where the warlock indicated and saw to her abject horror that there were no less than five long winding snake skins, completely devoid of bone and muscle, spread out over the sandy floor. Her reaction involved spitting out the contents of her mouth at the side of the nearby wall, the substance striking the wood with a slight thut sound and slowly trickled down the side like sap from a pine tree.

“I think I’ll stick with just the pasta and sauce.” Hanna decided with a hearty hack, wiping the inside of her mouth with the collar of her uniform.

Raisa stifled a chuckle and sent out an APB on her communicator. “Attention all units, if you want good Italian food, please report to the basement of the compound. First come, first served until gone. Follow your nose and line up in orderly fashion. Pottgen out.” she advertised. Aaron started doing calculations in his head as to how much to give people when his sensitive hearing picked up the sounds of numerous heavy footfalls that filled him with images of people practically falling over each other.

“And please mind the steps!” he called out. “It’s hard to enjoy good food when you’re in pain!”

Several seconds later, the first of the dinner guests arrived, and Divale groaned internally when he saw that it was Helga, looking like the female form of Dicken’s Oliver Twist ready to come up and ask ‘Please sir, can I have some more?’. He hid his displeasure well and started adding the meatballs into the main dish, much to the chagrin of Marseilles who knew the true contents of said additives.

Von Kreiger held out her mess kit tin and watched Aaron scoop up a heaping portion of pasta, sauce, and meat with his spoon and plop it right down, flecks of red spraying out of the container like a rock plummeting into a stream. While glad that the warlock didn’t let his feelings about her result in shortchanging, the private was somewhat dismayed by the fact that he didn’t even so much as look her in the eye while doing so. _Still doesn’t trust me._ Her depressed look caught the attention of Marseilles who made a low whistle and dangled a bottle of wine. Not wanting to hold up the line, as patient it was being at the time, Helga meandered towards her commanding officer.

“Don’t let it get to you.” Hanna whispered as she handed the wine off.

“I’ll try.” Von Kreiger answered with a sigh. “It’s going to be hard considering everything that happened.”

“Well,” the lieutenant began, plucking a bottle for herself from the crate, “rest assured that I’m on your side. Though to thoroughly understand what separates you and the warlock, I need to have some answers.” She gestured up the stairs and proceeded to go up them. The private followed right behind her like a lost puppy and the two emerged back into the disheveled office. Sweeping aside any papers still remaining on the desk, the pair sat on the desk top. “So where does it begin?” Hanna inquired, fishing out a corkscrew from one of her breast pockets.

“I know you mean well and I’m grateful for that,” Helga began hesitantly, swirling the food in her tin with her fork, “but to be honest Lieutenant Marseilles, I really don’t think you want to know.”

Hanna twisted the corkscrew in and gave it a hard pull. The cork popped off with the sound of a gunshot and she waited for it to breath before taking a good long swig. “And yet I do.” she stated confidently. “I’ve heard all sorts of terrible stories just from here alone. There’s nothing that will shock me.”

Von Kreiger nodded, both out of resignation and reluctance. _This will Lieutenant Marseilles. This certainly will._

*****************

Her lead soled boot kicked over another mole hill’s worth of sand into the air as Helga’s foot came down, the impact making a small scrish. Von Kreiger sighed and looked out at the rapidly setting sun, watching the sky turn all manner of vibrant colors. _But as beautiful as it is, it too must fade away._ The thought made her tear up a bit, adding to the fuzziness caused by the wine. She had spent the last few minutes wandering out along the perimeter of the listening post, wanting some fresh air. At least, that was her official reason. In reality, it was to get over and calm down after pouring her heart out to Marseilles, recounting everything that had happened between her and Aaron. Blatce, Houska Castle, Dover, all of it was made known, NDA be damned. Hanna seemed to take it pretty well, even asking questions regarding matters that appeared on the surface to be deviating from the point at hand. Then, her superior started hitting the bottle hard and that was when the private realized that she had to excuse herself. _When they start drinking like that, it’s a dead giveaway that they’re having trouble reconciling what they know with what they’re being told. Never ends well._ At the very least, she had informed Pottgen about the situation before she left so that the lieutenant was watched over and cared for. _She asked for though. I even warned her that she didn’t want to know. And now here we are Helga, all alone in the middle of the desert. Just hope that I didn’t completely turn her against me. I’m still afraid of Aaron and what he might do to me if he got the chance and I need all the friends I can get._

It was then that her right hand reached into her back pocket and pulled out a wallet, a simple brown leather flap with hardly anything in it of value, at least to the untrained eye. Within the folds, was a thin photograph and her fingers eagerly searched for it, finding it within seconds. Carefully, the digits took hold along the edges of the precious memory and pulled it out. Soon, her eyes beheld a trio of figures, an middle aged man sitting in a chair with a young boy on one knee and a young girl on the other. A smile creased here face, the brain easily identifying the people depicted and when that photo was taken. _We were both nine years old, in Prague. Dad took us all there for the festival and Hektor managed to win one of those chance games that no one ever wins and came away with a silver whistle. Blew it so much and so hard that a constable came over and joked that he would make a fine addition to the force. It was an amazing day. I’ll never forget it._ In a cruel twist of fate, the sun disappeared over the horizon and the dark fell upon her father and brother, as if the universe conspired to rob her of any solace, reminding once and for all her that they were dead, gone, never coming back.

Suddenly, Helga’s ears picked up the sounds of footsteps, the kind doing their best to sneak up on her from behind. In a flash, she drew her pistol, a Luger, pointed it in the general direction of the noise and called out, “Thunder!”

Though the shadows of the night descended rapidly, enough light remained to outline a figure, right hand held up and rifle in the other pointed down and away. “Flash!” the figure answered with a Southern twang, revealing the identity of the person as Audie. Von Kreiger relaxed as she put the gun away while the staff sergeant ventured forwards. “You on patrol duty too?” he asked.

Helga shook her head no. “Just getting some fresh air.”

The American smiled. “Personally, I thought it was because of too much booze.” he admitted. It was then that he noticed the photograph still clenched in the private’s hand and look a quick look at it. “Hard to imagine yourself being that small once upon a time.” he remarked, gesturing to the picture.

Helga gazed back at the photo, thought about, and chuckled, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Murphy moved in closer, standing right next to her and they both peered together at the figures depicted. After a few seconds, Audie inquired, “That your dad and brother?”

The woman winced as she relived that day over again in her mind. “They were.” she replied at length.

Audie looked away, regretting his choice of words. “Just make sure that Aaron doesn’t catch sight of that.” he warned, starting to resume his duties. “He doesn’t have fond memories of either of them.”

He didn’t even get five steps away before Helga queried, “What do you think of it all Audie?”

The staff sergeant furrowed his brow.”What do you mean?” he honestly asked.

“You know, about what happened at Dover? All of it?” Von Kreiger pressed.

Murphy sighed as he took off his helmet, letting his rifle thud butt first into the sand. Scratching and smoothing out his hair afterwards he stated, “I wish it never happened. When I joined up three years ago, I was under the impression that I’d be fighting them, the Neuroi, not other human beings. None of us liked doing what we did there. Still, no offense to you or your family, it was the right thing to do. What you all did was wrong. But if there was another way that we could’ve resolved it, I’d take it.” He then gestured with his helmet right at her. “As for you,” he began, placing it back on his head, “I disagree with Aaron concerning you. I had access to the after action reports just like he had. There’s no doubt in my mind that you displayed genuine remorse for what happened, for what you and yours did. I have nothing against you Helga and neither does Captain Peterborough to be honest. I don’t know much about you, but I can see that you’re a good sort. The fact that you’re here trying to make amends speaks volumes. You’re not like the rest of them. You actually have a heart and soul.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” a booming voice commented. The pair turned their heads, terrified as they were, and soon beheld two glowing eyes, floating like swaying lanterns in the dark towards them. Suddenly, a third light shone, appearing below the other two, the distinctive cherry of a cigarette, the excess ash flicked off by the movement. Aaron breathed out his nose, getting rid of the last bit of smoke from his mouth after having hid the lit cigarette in his maw for a good half minute, the tobacco laden clouds trailing behind him like contrails. He looked at the picture in Helga’s hands and sneered. “I can’t believe you still have a photo of those murderers.” he spat with scorn.

“They are not murderers!” Von Kreiger yelled, putting the heirloom away in her back pocket. “They were good men before you came along!”

“Your father maybe,” Divale admitted, albeit reluctantly, “but as for your brother, I had a real good look at him above and below the waist and I can tell you that there wasn’t much to recommend him for that honor.”

That outburst caused something to snap within Murphy who rushed up, putting himself between the two parties, brandishing his rifle as if he was prepared to use it. “That’s enough Aaron!” he snarled. “Get out of here!”

Such display of candor caused the warlock to peer down at the staff sergeant with wonder. “Well, well, well,” he mused, weighing his options, “what ruffled your feathers?”

“There’s a fine line between joking around and being an asshole, and you fucking crossed it.” Audie remarked. “Now make like the breeze and beat it.” he added, flicking the safety off for emphasis.

Knowing he’d been upstaged, Aaron raised both his hands in mock surrender and backed away. “I’ve got better things to do anyway.” he commented, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Another time Helga.” he uttered while turning around and departing for his tent, every syllable jetting out smoke like a locomotive.

“Like hell he will on my watch.” Murphy countered in a low voice.

Divale ignored the parting shot from the American and the resulting gossip between the two as he left, letting himself drown in a sea of his own thoughts. However, as much as he tried to sink his proverbial feet into the morass, he couldn’t make so much as an iota of headway. It was like cream from fresh milk, always rising to the top. Another puff later and the lieutenant grumbled like an annoyed lion. _You’ve got balls Murphy. Heart’s in right the place, but you’re so damn naive. You just don’t get it. You don’t know her like I do and I’d rather you didn’t. Just hope that this machismo isn’t a gimmick to get into her pants. Though, to be honest, I really don’t care if you end up fucking her, but I do care about you making the same mistake as I did. That harpy is not to be trusted._ His distemper was making the contents of his stomach turn, the acidity of the pasta sauce and wine not meshing well. _Best to get some sleep, let this whole thing blow over._ Though the sun was gone and the skies had clouded over, there was enough ambient light scattered around to guide him. Peering through the night, Aaron found his tent well enough and plucked the now spent cigarette from his mouth, using his right index and thumb to pinch it dead before flicking it into the sand. Stooping down, he took hold of the flap and mosquito netting with the same hand and parted the veil. Inside his abode was a long bedroll, actually two sewn together with thick black thread so that they wouldn’t separate. His guns were off to the side, resting on empty ammo boxes. The rest of his kit was hanging up on the support legs so that snakes, spiders, scorpions, and other creepy crawlies wouldn’t make his morning eventful. _Everything is as it should be._

However, on this occasion, things were most definitely not as they should be for there were two variables that had escaped his notice, at least until now. Lying on her left side, positively wasted out of her mind, was Lieutenant Marseilles, mumbling up a drunken storm while her friend Pilot Officer Pottgen did her best to keep her on her side and to get her to fall asleep. Upon opening the flap, Raisa looked over with surprise at Aaron, who in turn was giving her the same treatment. “This is awkward.” Divale murmured in a low voice. The German witch quickly put her right index finger to her lips angrily, silently imploring him to be quiet.

“Who said that?!” Hanna exclaimed, trying her damnedest to sit up. Pottgen mouthed a curse word as she did so, the damage done. After a few sloppy attempts, Marseilles accomplished her task, wheeling around to gaze at Aaron with beer goggled eyes. Though he himself had quite a bit to drink tonight, Divale had no trouble seeing that his superior was in rough shape to say the least. Her uniform top was unbuttoned and untucked, revealing her white undershirt. On the left side of her head, her blond hair was matted into the shape of yellow ribbon candy, little wisps crisscrossing her face or entering her nostrils and mouth. _With a look like that, I’d bet the flavor would be the sourest lemon in the world._ After a few seconds, two and two were put together and the drunken lieutenant quipped, “Oh, it’s you. Welcome to my tent.” As she made that proclamation, Hanna parted her arms out wide, nearly slapping Raisa in the jaw in the process. “And,” she added with a slight hiccup, “as is customary, all those who enter my tent must pay a fee.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes, thinking about how best to diffuse the situation. “I do have something you can drink.” he offered.

Pottgen frantically shook her head no, but Hanna’s eyes flashed with happiness. “That sounds like a great idea Lieutenant Divale!” she declared, wobbling on her rump. “Hand it over.”

In a flash, the warlock put up his right hand and explained, “I’ve been drinking from it all night and I don’t want you to get the taste of me in your mouth so I’m going to pour it into a canteen and give it to you. Is that alright?”

“Oh certainly, certainly.” Marseilles agreed. “Do what you must.”

Now it was Raisa’s turn to be confused and she watched Aaron reach over to grab his water canteen with his left hand. He then turned completely around, but not enough to where Pottgen couldn’t see what he was doing. She leaned forwards and saw that Divale didn’t have a bottle of wine at all, but was mimicking that he had and even used his voice to project rather convincingly sounding glugs. A few seconds of that went by and the warlock circled right around and handed the canteen off to Hanna, with her being none the wiser. The witch eagerly accepted the offering, unscrewed the cap, and started guzzling the contents like she hadn’t had a drop to drink in days. Several swigs later, Marseilles took the canteen away from her lips and grimaced, “It’s such a shame that cheap wine is the drink of choice these days. The first sips are fine, but the second and third just have no flavor at all.”

“It’s one of those things we all have to put up with.” Aaron stated, shrugging his shoulders.

A pointed index finger from Hanna’s left hand shot up into the air like a signal flare, her lips pursed. “But one thing that I in particular will never put up with are feeble attempts to muscle in on my command.” she professed. An uneasy quiet fell upon the scene and Raisa and Aaron exchanged wary looks. “Don’t act like you don’t know what the hell’s going on.” she growled, inching ever closer towards him, liquid fire in her eyes. “It wouldn’t fucking surprise me in the least that they let you in on it.”

Divale went on the defensive, but showed no signs of intimidation. “With utmost respect,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh come on!” Marseilles yelled, swinging her arms wildly, drops of water sloshing out of the canteen and falling on the bedroll, his bedroll. “You can’t possibly be that stupid can you?! It’s as plain as day!” She thrust her left hand out at the front of the tent and explained, “Everyone out there knows you and you know them. Apart from me and Rai, there’s some sort of common bond between all of us, a bond that I think Neumann and Rommel are only too keen on promoting to your benefit.”

“Quite a foundation you’ve built there.” Aaron observed. “It’s just too bad that it sits on shaky ground and here’s why. A unit is only effective if all members act as one. Fostering opposing camps within doesn’t aid cooperation, it hinders it. Regardless of what you think about the general and air commander, they both know that doing so would be not only idiotic, but mutually counterproductive to what they want to achieve. Plus, I’m pretty damn sure that if they wanted to replace you with me, they’d have done so and it would be me lying on my bedroll three sheets to the winds instead of you.”

“I’m not drunk!” Hanna replied with some bite. “I’m just tired.” She tipped the canteen up and drank some more, rivulets of water running down her cheeks and chin. “And you’re not getting out of this conversation that easy.” she stated after swallowing, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “You don’t know how many people outside and within the Allies want to see me taken down a peg or two. They still blame me for what happened several months ago despite all evidence to the contrary. You being here represents the best shot they have of realizing their desires, but it’s not going to happen. I won’t let it happen. The Star of Africa will rise again, burning hotter and shining brighter than ever before!”

“Even if they wanted me to take your place, I’d refuse.” Divale replied, holding both his hands up in mock surrender. “They can’t lead this horse to water and make it drink.”

“Sorry to bust your bubble there lieutenant, but as a soldier, you don’t get a say. They order, you obey. That’s the way it is.” Hanna countered.

“Then I’d resign.” the warlock stubbornly persisted.

“You can’t just up and leave the Allies.” the witch protested.

“I’d like to see them try find the one person who’d try to stop me.” Aaron boasted. “What’s his name again? Oh right. Mr McFuckingDoesn’tExist.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To have them try to prevent you from leaving?” Hanna deduced, lounging on her back and snuggling into the thick bedroll, clutching the canteen like a child does their teddy bear as they hop into bed. “Alexandria wouldn’t be the first time that you had to use violence against people.” When she said that, Divale grew extremely uncomfortable. _What the fuck is she going on about? What does she know?_ Marseilles began to laugh cruelly at seeing him slightly afraid. “You really think that someone like me wouldn’t find out about your dirty past? Helga told me all about you in excruciating detail. Houska and Dover both.” she illuminated.

The warlock got over his fright with a sudden rush of indignation and his face wrinkled. “Everything you say?” he inquired with an air of disbelief. “I find that hard to fathom. That woman who spun this fantastic tale is a manipulative lying cunt. You see, if she actually told the truth, she would’ve explained not only what occurred but why. Her dear old dad blew the brains out of one of my best friends several years ago which prompted me to turn him into a human shish kebab. As for the rest of his command there, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time honestly. Time passes and they find out where I am. Even though they knew what I could do, they trekked on over to England, staged a coup of the 501st, and killed the woman I loved in cold blood.” Aaron paused and gestured to Raisa with his right hand, adding, “If someone shot and killed her, wouldn’t you want revenge? Tell me truthfully.” Hanna managed to nod. “And you can bet your bottom dollar that I took it. Cleaned house like you wouldn’t believe and rightfully so. They deserved what they got and even Audie and Edmund would agree with me.” he finished.

“There you go again lieutenant.” Marseilles chided. “Acting all holier than thou, playing the victim card. You’re not as exempt from guilt as you think you are. You may look like an angel and act as selfless as a knight of Camelot, but no man does to human beings what you do. Only a monster does that. They may be the enemy, but there’s a fine line between doing your job and relishing in it. What I saw on the fields of Alexandria wasn’t going about a task, it was wholesale butchery, all done with a smile on your face.”

“War’s an ugly business that requires a heavy prejudiced hand.” Divale retorted. “We all do what we have to to end it quickly. The press and public don’t like it because they believe that there should be some humanity to it all, a sense of civility. That? In the realm of conflict?” He shook his head repeatedly from side to side. “Not possible. Not with them, not ever. What would you do if you were me, trying to reconcile what know what you have to do with knowing that there can be no compromise? You wouldn’t be able to handle such a thing if you were me. You wouldn’t so much as last five minutes in my shoes without shoving a gun in your mouth.”

“Not that’s far enough!” Pottgen suddenly quipped from the sidelines.

“Some more than others.” Hanna replied insidiously, glaring at the warlock defiantly.

Aaron caught the meaning behind her statement and goaded, “Then by all means Lieutenant Marseilles, illuminate me as to how you’ve suffered compared to some of us.”

The pilot officer’s face went from red with anger to shock white with terror. In a flash, she grabbed her friends arm and pleaded, “Hanna don’t-”

Yet the pleas fell on deaf drunken ears, and the witch violently shrugged off the gesture and screamed, “Stay out of this Rai!” Defeated and on the verge of tears, Pottgen slid away, her bottom lip trembling. The sight made Divale stop his train of though, but Hanna moved with the speed of a runaway freight train, coming to within slapping distance of his face, the canteen still clutched firmly in her right hand. “Now sit back and prepare yourself for a grand old story from yours truly.” she began. “Picture early ‘39 and I’m well on my way to turning fourteen. As if you couldn’t tell by my name, my parents were mixed. Born in Germany and raised in France. My father worked for the German War Ministry, very high up in the food chain too. His salary and position earned him a house in country, a cottage up on the coast for use in summer, and two cars, one of which he said would go to me virtue of a trust fund. At this point in my development, my powers started to manifest and got more powerful with every passing month. Business took my dad away for weeks if not months at a time, leaving me with next to nothing to do, so I joined a shooting club and participated in competitions. Despite time restraints, distance, and the nature of his work, my father always made sure that he got time off when I got into the finals of those contests, and I usually did.”

“Sounds like you and your father were close.” Aaron observed.

“More than close.” Marseilles pointed out. “Whenever he came back home, we were virtually inseparable. His car would not even get an inch into the long winding driveway we had before I was out my room, down the hall, sliding down the stairs, busting out the door, and just running as hard and fast as my legs could carry me, lungs burning like fire, just so I could leap into his arms and get the biggest warmest hug ever.” She placed her hands on the side of her face and smiled, reminiscing about her childhood. “We’d go to movies, take walks in the park, eat out at our favorite restaurants, and sometimes when he had to bring work home with him, I’d stay up late watching him go over the documents, telling me how such and such was going to change the world. I could’ve cared less about what the hell he was talking about. The fact that he was home and with me was all that mattered. The warmest, kindest, loving father a little girl could ever ask for.”

“What about your mother?” Divale inquired with a cocked eyebrow. “Where was she in all of this?”

Hanna’s face visibly darkened, the mention of her other parent killing the happy mood she was in. “Nowhere to be fucking found.” she muttered. “She was the complete opposite of what my father was. Where he was warm, she was cold. When he was near, she was always afar. Even though she stayed home with me whenever he left for work, we’d rarely see each other except for mealtimes. Getting her to talk was the hardest thing to do. There were probably eight times that I can remember as a child that she spoke more than twelve words to me and have the conversations last more than a minute. To this day, I don’t know why he married here. They were like the sun and moon, both so very important to their daughter’s world, but never able to come together to spend time with her.” She took a drink from the canteen and thought about what she was about to say for a brief moment before continuing, “And later on, I found out the hard way why. One afternoon, I was walking down to the kitchen and I heard something coming from my mother’s bedroom. It was like moaning, like the painful type, or so I thought. Curious, I looked through the keyhole and saw my mom, lying on her bed, with a man on top of her that wasn’t my father.” The lieutenant’s lower jaw hardened and she sucked in her teeth. “I didn’t know what to think when I saw that. Tears formed and I ran downstairs crying. I felt so confused, angry, sad, betrayed, and all I thought about was how to get a hold of dad and tell him what was going on. Went downstairs to the telephone and called the hotline number, it bypassed the secretary and went right to my dad. Told me to only use if for really important business and this certainly qualified. He picks up and I blurt out that another man was in the house in the bedroom with mom. Several seconds go by and my father tells me that he suspected as such and to go to my room and wait there until her got home that night.”

Aaron made a T with his hands, not wanting to use his voice to interrupt. “So you’re saying that your father knew that there was a possibility that his wife, your mother, was having an affair, yet did nothing about it until then?” he asked.

Marseilles clumsily shrugged, throwing her off balance. “Maybe he needed more to go on besides his gut, or maybe he knew fully and allowed it, but when I saw it with my own eyes it had to stop.” she explained while righting herself again. “Regardless, I hang up and go to my room, locking the door behind me. I laid down on my bed and cried. I was so scared about what was going to happen. Later on, my dad gets home and I run out to meet him as usual, but instead of hugging me, he brushes me aside and tell me to come with him. We both go in the house and there, at the foot of the staircase was my mother, looking like everything was normal, that there was nothing amiss whatsoever. He goes up to her and whispers something in her ear and her face flushes. They duck into a side room and shut the door, leaving me sitting on the steps. A least an hour goes by with them talking, sometimes loud and others so low that I couldn’t hear them no matter how hard I tried to listen through the door. Eventually, it opens and my father walks out, kneels down, placing his arms on my shoulders. He says to me that he and mom were getting a divorce.” Hanna made a fist and placed it up against her mouth, nodding as she transitioned from that memory to the next. “Since my dad worked with the German government, he couldn’t have the proceedings take place in the German courts. Something about endangering impartiality he said so the whole thing was moved to a French one instead. Both sides lawyered up and things looked to be pretty cut and dry. Apparently they discussed a lot more than my mother’s infidelity. At the hearing, my father’s lawyer goes up to the judge and states that both sides had agreed in principle that he would give her a third of his assets, half his pension when he retired, the entirety of the summer cottage, and joint custody of me. The judge’s eyes went wide and he exclaimed that in all the twenty years that he’d been presiding over cases like these, that this was the first in which a good deal was struck for both sides. Obviously, he then asked my mother if she had in fact agreed to the arrangement.”

The fist started to shake, just a tad at first, but then increased in intensity, the knuckles white. The lieutenant started to breath heavily, rage coursing through her veins. Suddenly, she punched the bedroll hard, creating a mini divot in the sand underneath the thick cloth. “And then she stands up, looks at me, my dad, his lawyer, her boy toy who had the nerve to sit next to me and behind her, and then the judge, and the bitch tells him no. We’re shocked, it took all of us by surprise, even her own attorney was staring at her in disbelief. If that wasn’t enough, she goes on a ten minute tirade against my father, saying that this would never have happened had he’d been able to fulfill his duties as a man in a state of marriage, how she never felt loved or satisfied with him as he devoted much of his free time with me. She was dragging my dad’s name and reputation through the mud and since she suffered so much due to this neglect she said, that she was entitled to no less than two thirds of everything my dad owned, his assets, pension, the whole house and cottage, even the cars, and full custody of me. And if this wasn’t bad enough, she did the unbelievable, the unthinkable. Mom alleged that my father abused me, physically and sexually, insinuating that the numerous outings we had were used as a cover for incestuous relations. Immediately, the judge calls both sides to the bench. I’m horrified by what was happening. I couldn’t believe that she said that that, and for what? Petty spite and greed. Though I was far away, I managed to overhear the judge ask my mother if she indeed wished to make that statement a point of contention, because if she did, what would happen next could not be altered or be stopped, that the state was obligated under the law to pursue the matter to conclusion.”

Tremors ceased and Hanna’s breathing slowed. She then tucked her legs close to her rump, looping her arms over her knees, hugging them close to her chest. Her eyes started watering and the bottom lips quivered. “And she said yes.” Marseilles croaked out. “I didn’t know then that under the law, a child, especially a witch child, when the subject of any divorce proceeding, is to be excluded fully from all arguments. What they have to say about either side is inadmissible in court. However, if one of the parties alleges sexual abuse, the state is mandated to admit that child into the phase of discovery, meaning that now, I could then make statements on my behalf. In addition, given the seriousness of the charge, for all parties involved, I was to be subjected to an exam by a team of medical professionals.” The floodgates burst and the tears flowed like waterfalls. It was a painful sight to behold, a woman so confident, so strong, reduced to such a state. Both Aaron and Raisa found it very difficult to not try to comfort her in her time of suffering. Admist the tears, the German witch sniffled back the anguish and continued, “You have, well, maybe you do have an idea of what it was like considering your past, but you’ll never understand what it was like through the eyes of young woman. Imagine telling everyone how much your mother is a liar and that your dad never did those sorts of things to you, feeling like you’re doing good and then being led into a room full of doctors and a table with straps on it, who tell you to remove your clothes. Obviously you refuse and resist, but they hold you down and give you a shot of something that makes it so that you can’t move. Once they have you secured they go right to work, touching, poking, prodding with instruments inside and around your areas, taking pictures, and sketching. And they call it discovery. I call it rape. It was the most traumatizing and degrading experience of my life. Never was the same after that day.”

“And they found nothing.” Divale states softly, wanting to move on.

“No they didn’t!” Hanna snapped. “Not a single shred of evidence to support my mother’s claim and the head of the team said as such when giving the judge the findings. A ten minute recess is called, served, and ended. Judge is the last person to enter the courtroom. He sits down and renders his verdict. Starts out by saying that due to the false allegations brought on my mother against my father, that she was not entitled to what she demanded, but given how that she and her needs were in fact neglected, that she deserved something. The court ruled partially in favor of the lying bitch, awarding her half of everything, but emancipated me from them both, making me free to choose who I wished to live with. My father’s lawyer stands up stiffly, telling the judge that they wished to appeal. Judge denies the appeal and reminds the lawyer that to do so required going through the appellate courts where he had the gall to admit that the chances of success were slim. Gavel slams down. Case closed. Then things go at a whirlwind pace. People start leaving in droves as fast as they can. Mom and her paramour depart out the front with the onlookers, judge and stenographer escape out a side door leading into the judge’s chambers, mom’s lawyer gathers his things and exits the chamber without so much as a word, and within maybe a minute and a half, the only people left in the room are me, my dad, his lawyer, and the bailiff who was standing as far away as possible as not to intrude. I rush over to them and the lawyer is profusely apologizing for all of it, but I can’t hear him and I honestly didn’t want to. The only thing that mattered to me was how my dad was and he was rough. He was hunched over, head in his hands, not weeping but just silent, completely robbed physically and crushed emotionally by a woman who he thought loved him.

Neither of us wanted to go back home and the lawyer knew that. Whether it was out of contrition or not, he took us in for the night at his place. It was right near where my dad worked and I went to school so it was perfect given the circumstances. By the time things got set up for both of us, it was already evening and I wanted to wish my father a goodnight. At this point, my dad’s condition deteriorated. He was slouching in a recliner by the fireplace, his lips moving but not saying a word, his eyes wide open yet focused on nothing, and his fingers would twitch every once in a while. It was like he was in a catatonic state. No emotion of any kind. Heartbreaking to see. Up to that point, I’d never seen my father laid so low. I walked up to him, gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and told him that we were going to be alright and that I loved him. My words seemed to break his stupor and he looked right me. A weak smile forms and he nods. ‘I love you too Hanna,’ he says, ‘but I’m too tired to tuck you in. You have to look after yourself now.’ It was hard for me to accept, but I did and went to bed.

Next morning, I wake up and, despite my mood, I resolved to go to school just so I could try to get it out of my system. Didn’t even wash up or anything. Things go fine for the opening two classes, but halfway through the third, I honestly forget which one it was, the school counselor comes in, apologizing for the interruption and stating that I had to go see the principal immediately. Everyone in class looks at me, the teacher included. I did nothing wrong at all that day. True, I might not have been paying much attention, but that wasn’t something that you got in trouble for. Try as I might during our trek to the main office, I couldn’t get a word of explanation out of the counselor who just said that all would be made clear when we got there. Eventually, we get there and he opens the door. Inside is the principal, a police officer, and my father’s lawyer whose eyes were so red that it looked like that he hadn’t slept a wink or had cried for hours. Door closes behind m and I ask he principal what was going on. What did I do? He solemnly answers, ‘It’s not about what you did, but what your father did.’ ”

Again, the tears started to come back, along with the stuttering breaths as Hanna struggled mightily to say what was on her mind. “When everyone was asleep, he went into the bathroom, filled up a tub full of hot water, sat down in it, and opened his v-” she started to say, but Aaron had heard enough. He put up his hands, fingers splayed out as wide as he could manage, silencing the rest of the statement.

“You don’t have to go further.” he said. “I get it.”

“Really?” Marseilles queried in a mocking tone, making it plainly obvious that she didn’t believe him. She reached out with her free hand, grabbed Divale firmly by the collar, and pulled him forwards hard, the distance between the two going from slapping to nose rubbing. Across the tent went the canteen, tossed against the heavy siding, not so much as a drop remaining in the vessel. “Because I don’t think you have.” she seethed. “I think you are just compartmentalizing all this in your brain, storing it in an area that won’t see much use just so you don’t have to deal with it. Is that what your doing? Huh?” Towards the end of her battery of questions, the lieutenant was pushing and pulling at his uniform collar, rocking him back and forth like a seesaw on a playground. Raisa was about to intervene, but then she saw the warlock make a curious facial expression with the cheeks sinking into the gaps between the upper and lower jaws and the lips puckering into a round O like a fish. Then he exhaled a purplish gas into Hanna’s face that caused her to instantly let go of him and to start toppling backwards. In a flash, Aaron’s hands arrested her fall and he lowered her gently onto her side. Pottgen watched with relief as her now snoozing friend was being tucked in with practiced care, even doing her the courteous of pulling back her hair from her face as he did so. Her gaze traveled to the eyes, orbs that glowed softly like candles in the dark. _There’s pity and concern there. Remarkable. Despite being chewed out like that and made to listen to that horrible tale, he still deals with it._

“You both bed buddies for tonight?” Aaron inquired in a low voice, reaching for the empty canteen and the cap. When the lone awake witch nodded in the affirmative, he added, “That’s good, because I really don’t want to be the first person she sees when she wakes up.”

“What did you do if you don’t mind me asking?” Pottgen whispered, checking her charge.

“Just something that will help her sleep it off.” Divale answered. He double checked to see if the vessel was empty and it was. “That’s good.” he remarked, screwing the cap back on and searching for a place to hang it up. “She’ll still feel it in the morning, but it won’t be as bad.”

“So I guess now you know why she is the way she is.” Raisa stated.

“Both yes and no.” the warlock admitted while finding a peg. He looped the long leather strap of the canteen around it and made a knot so it wouldn’t fall. “While I do sympathize and wish that Hell had ten circles just for people who do that to their own children, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still a paranoid, egotistical, megalomanic, glory hound who thinks that being on the front page is more preferable that the front line.”

The pilot officer was indignant. “She’s not anything of the sort!” she hissed, moving in towards her reposing superior as if she needing protecting. “Yes she has her flaws, but she’s nowhere near as bad as she was. Strides are being made everyday.”

“Do such strides include snapping at their friends?” Aaron countered with a cocked eyebrow. “Nearly making them cry?”

The rage dissipated from the German’s tone. “We all backslide sometimes.” she reasoned. “After the war is over, she’ll be a changed woman. Her and Helga both.” The mention of the private’s name made Divale shift, clear discomfort on his face. Pottgen caught it and sighed. “Whatever happened between you and Von Kreiger, you need to let it go. Like Hanna here, she’s at the very least trying to make amends. You can’t fault her for that.”

“Let me tell you something that I learned very early on about women Rai.” Aaron began, reaching for the tent flap to let himself out. “Women are like flowers, each one unique and special. If properly rooted and cared for, they germinate and remind all that see them the goodness inside each and every one of us. However, not all caretakers are created equal. Many just leave them as they are, or even worse, let them be subject to the deprivations of the world around them. For a time their innocence insulates them from those evils and trials, but, as all flower must do when pushed beyond their limits, they too wither and die, yet their demise is on the inside, much worse than the kind one sees from without. Where I’m from, baring divine intervention, when a good woman goes bad, she’s gone forever.”

A slight pause ensued before Pottgen returned the advice with some of her own, her gaze as cold and hard as steel. “Where I’m from, they say the same thing about men too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months of silence, British signals have been picked up. Knowing that he will need their strength for the coming fight, General Rommel dispatches the 31st JFS to locate and bring them all back all at costs. Meanwhile, the enemy sends forces of their own, ones only too keen on turning this dream of reunion into a nightmare.

**_ **Chapter VIII: Spartan Conditions** _ **

**_ _ **

_Economics and war are so similar that they might as well be the same subject. Alter a few words and one such maxim follows thus: The objective of every business (war) is to take inputs (guns and men) and put them through a process or processes (training and battle) to create an output (victory) that can be sold to the general public for more than the cost incurred (dead men and grieving widows). However, this theory falls short of the reality. Far too often, the business must operate at levels where the selling price can never ever equal the cost. In short, operating at a loss. To some, this is inherent, but to others, this one in particular, it is to be avoided at all costs, even to the detriment of the business._

May 1st 1944

The world was blurry, but then again, it always was to Hanna in the mornings, regardless of what unfolded the previous day. It was also painful, but at all like the sun in your eyes sting. This agony was all over the place, the lower back, the stomach, yet it hurt the most in the head, like she was suffering the worst headache of her life. “Fucking hell.” she breathed, placing her right arm over her eyes and turning in the bedroll. Marseilles knew that she was hungover, but other than that, the details were a little sketchy. _Always happens when I drink too much. Mind blacks out and make I stupid decisions. Least I’m in my tent._ Turning her neck towards the ceiling of the tent, the lieutenant rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. When that was done, she could see more clearly and as the finer points of reality slowly materialized, Hanna grew confused after viewing several key sites. First, immediately upwards of where she lay, there was no stick that had been dipped in a vial of scented oil the night before hanging there. _I always do that before I go to bed, inebriated or not._ As she looked around, her puzzlement grew. _Where’s my perfume box, my brush, and my shoes?_ Such things were nowhere to be found, replaced with all manner of bric a brac hanging from string on the support legs, ranging from a canteen to an empty backpack. Her eyes focused on a bevy of guns resting on empty ammo boxes. It took her a few seconds to realize that those definitely weren’t hers and panic started to settle in. _Those are Aaron’s guns! That means I’m in his tent! Oh dear God don’t tell me that I got so wasted that I f-_

“Finally you’re awake.” a woman’s voice stated. Marseilles eyes peered over the overly thick blankets of the warlock’s bedroll at the front of the tent and saw the familiar form of Raisa coming in through the flap, right shoulder in front like she was barging on through a thin wall. She did it slowly for, in either hand, she carried two cups full of steaming coffee. Noting the look on her friend’s face, Pottgen assured as she shimmied over to her right side, “You may have spent the night here, but he didn’t.”

Hanna breathed a heavy sigh of relief and sat up. “Oh thank Christ. I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if I woke up and found the likes of him snoozing next to me.” she remarked, staring at the java in the pilot officer’s hands.

Pottgen handed one off and elaborated, “Well, you would’ve snuck out, washed yourself down twice, vomited, brushed your teeth, and avoided all contact with him for the rest of the week.”

Marseilles sipped the hot liquid and the effects of the caffeine laden beverage began to make her headache go away. “You know me oh so well.” she commented.

“I sure hope so after so many years.” Raisa beamed, looking her over. _Doesn’t look too bad and there’s no mess around to clean up. Win-win as far as I’m concerned._

After swallowing another mouthful, the lieutenant asked, “If he didn’t sleep here, where did he pass the night?”

“Honestly, don’t know.” Pottgen replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Though I seem to remember that Beurling girl yelling ‘Yee’ and, I can’t stress this enough, ‘Haw’.” She paused, thinking about the next question she was going to ask. “You recollect anything from last night?”

“Not a fucking thing apart from hearing the horror story that was Helga’s dealings with Aaron.” Hanna admitted, her tone making it clear that she was probably better off not knowing the past between the two. “You remember any of it?”

 _I had one and a half bottles of wine less than you. Of course I do._ “You and the private were eating, drinking, and talking while I was listening in from afar. Didn’t like what I overheard, but I stayed. As the conversation got darker and darker, I noticed that you were hitting the vino more and more. Before it ended, I had to use the bathroom and when I came back, poof, you were gone. Thankfully Von Kreiger told me where you sauntered off to and I tear out of the place search for you. Took a bit of snooping, but I managed to catch the sole of your left boot disappearing into Divale’s tent and I’m thinking, ‘Oh shit. Not this again.’. Open her up and there you are, lying on his bedroll, a second away from dreamland. I try to get you up and out to where you’re supposed to sleep, but lo and behold, Aaron waltzes right on in. He looks at the situation and gives me the ‘what the fuck is going on and why are you both in my tent’ look. You sit right up, awake as the dawn, and you two have the most interesting conversation.” Raisa explained.

“Was any of it not full of slurred conjunctions and contrived drunken metaphors?” Marseilles inquired.

“You did let slip what you thought of him as well as to the supposed reason why he’s here.” Pottgen added gravely.

Hanna stiffened, both out of shock and anger. “It’s not a supposition.” she retorted. “It’s plain fact.”

“I’m not arguing with you about what is and what isn’t Hanna,” the pilot officer countered sternly, getting annoyed, “I’m just telling you what happened. Take it or leave it.”

Marseilles looked back down at her coffee begrudgingly and took another drink from the cup. “Anything else?” she queried, still not over it.

Pottgen took an extra few seconds worth of drinking her java, mulling over how much to tell her friend. _There’s no way I’m telling her that she talked about her father to him. I don’t want to open that festering wound again, not now._ “You got up in his face and he, I have clue what he did, but Aaron blew some sort of magical cloud into your face and you instantly conk out. He then tucks you in and leaves.” she answered, leaving out what he said afterwards.

“Ah.” Hanna merely said. “Speaking of leave, did we get anything while I sleeping about moving out?”

“Not at this point, but-” Raisa started to answer, but her response was interrupted by her friend’s vibrating ear communicator, rattling on the top of a ammo crate as if possessed. 

The lieutenant snatched it up, placed it in her ear, and pressed the send stud. “This is Lieutenant Marseilles. Go ahead.” she stated with authority. Pottgen watched the scene unfold, sipping her coffee as whoever was on the other end started spouting off. Couldn’t hear a single word of it, but whatever passed between the two, it was of great importance, so much so that Hanna, despite not being in the best condition to do anything quick, literally jumped up from the bedroll, knocking her head on the support beam with a tic. Rubbed her cranium furiously and wincing all the while, she managed to spew out, “Understood! Where is he?!” Another tense few seconds went by and Marseilles concluded the dialogue with, “Right away General Rommel! Marseilles out!” Immediately after killing the link, the witch turned to her friend and instructed, “Get everyone up and ready to move out in fifteen.”

“What’s going on?” Raisa inquired, eager to know.

“Our boys back at Alexandria managed to get a weak signal a ways south of here. They say it’s the British! We found them at last and the general wants us to assess their situation and bring them all back up!” Hanna replied, her words coming out with the speed of machine gun bullets.

The pilot officer’s jaw dropped. _The British! I can’t believe it!_ “That’s fantastic news!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet, but minding the confines. “Did they manage to figure out where they’ve been all this time?” she asked.

“That,” the lieutenant answered with emphasis, “is the damnedest part.”

***********

The dark matriarch brooded silently in her chair at the foot of a wide round table, her breakfast hardly touched, and right hand stroking her chin as the neophyte explained the reason for her intrusion. “There can be no mistake about it.” the not so welcome guest assured. “Our decryption teams have confirmed that the signal is British Eight Army.”

“And what of the location?” another female voice inquired, one originating right to the immediate left of the mistress. The shrouded messenger’s head inched upwards and she retreated a few steps towards the back of the room upon seeing who it was that spoke. Stifling a smile, the mistress took her right hand away from her face and placed it back on the arm of the chair. _Oh, yes. I forgot that she hasn’t met my esteemed bodyguard._ Looking to her left, her eyes beheld a tall figure, the thick trailing cloth not even skimming the ground, revealing dark skinned feet wearing bleached bone white sandals with a turquoise foot band. Clutched in her right hand was a long spear, one that the Southern African tribes called an assagai, the head made of tempered steel and the shaft from the strongest of woods. It only eclipsed her height by a few inches, so massive was her stature. In the left, she carried a simple stretched goat hide shield that was reinforced with thick pieces of wood, a nguni, numerous black marks etched on the skin from charcoal stencils. _Though far from proud, she does like to broadcast her accomplishments._

“That is a very good point.” the mistress concluded, staring down the neophyte. “Without knowing where the transmission came from, we’d be wandering aimlessly in the desert like the Jews of old.”

“W-We have ruled out K-Khartoum.” the nervous neophyte stammered, wilting under the twin gazes of such august figures. “And it v-very unlikely they’d go further s-south past the Nile c-confluence. A-Assumption at this point is D-Dongola.”

“Assumption?!” the bodyguard repeated firmly, taking a lunging step forward. “We have some of the best intelligence gatherers in our ranks and you are telling our mistress that you think the British are at Dongola?!” She was about to move another step, but her advance was arrested upon seeing that the leader raised her right hand up from the arm of the chair.

“A moment of calm is needed here my dear.” the mistress advised. “Despite how raw and inconclusive this information is, it is all old news to me. I have known exactly where the British have encamped for quite some time now.” She purposefully let that statement hang like a dead man on a noose, allowing the impact to hit and wash over her audience. “You see,” she started again, “before the mass retreat, I took the liberty of installing a few spies among their ranks who bugged their communications equipment with a jammer, blocking any incoming and outgoing transmissions from the outside or inside. And while those exemplary individuals are no longer among the living, the fruits of their labor allowed us to tap into their encoded messages with them being none the wiser as well. For months now, we’ve cataloged numerous unit reformations and troop movements.”

Recovering well from the stupor, the neophyte blinked inaction away. “But if that is case my mistress,” she began, “then we should divert forces from the front to destroy them. And if this jammer you speak of still works, then how did they get a message out in the first place?”

Her outburst caused the towering guardian to shoulder her assagai, leveling tip at the neophyte’s heart. “Watch your tongue woman.” she growled. “Your insolent tongue won’t be the first I’ve had the pleasure of cutting out.”

“Yet, it is a logical question.” the mistress countered, her words settling the tension like salt extracting the carbonation in soda water. She then pushed herself out of her seat and walked calmly to the neophyte, her protector not far behind. “Let me ask you a question my dear.” she offered when the pair were close enough. “When a unit is reorganized, particularly after a bit of hard fighting, what does the process entail?”

“Officers take account of the situation.” the neophyte answered. “Logging down the living, walking wounded, and dead, and from which section. That is passed to the general who then makes the decision to-” The words fell away as revelation dawned and the mistress slowly nodded in approval. “I see now!” she remarked, flabbergasted that she didn’t come to this conclusion sooner. “You let them do so with the intention of finding out who the leaders were, both for units and the general’s chief’s of staff! That way, when the time came to deal with them, you’d know who to target!”

“Which is precisely why I allowed them to send that call.” the mistress finished with a smile. Then, with a wave of her right hand, she commanded, “Leave us.”

Quickly, the neophyte bowed and beat a hasty retreat out of the chamber. The guardian watched her go and then regarded her charge. “General Rommel would’ve probably got into contact with the 31st JFS considering their last known position. It will take them about a week to get there.” she stated.

“Of that I’m well aware.” the mistress concurred. “You will tail them as they find the British for you. If discovered, you know what to do.” She leaned in and added sternly, “I also needn’t remind you about the warlock.”

The towering figure shook her cowled head in the negative. “You need not my mistress. I’m to avoid combat with him at all costs.”

“Excellent.” the mistress breathed, delighted to know that her words were being heeded. “When you get there, do what must be done. Make General Montgomery think twice about getting back into the fight. Names and locations will be provided to you upon departure.”

“Your will my mistress.” the bodyguard intoned. “If you’ll allow me, I wish to make a humble request.”

A cocked eyebrow later and the mistress ventured, “A request? Of me? From my sharpest blade, a warrior so fierce that she killed General Tellera and frightened General Stumme to death, I dare hear some doubt in your voice?”

“Never.” the protector replied. “I may be your willing assassin, but even the best hunters never pursue their quarry alone. By their sides are always loyal hounds.”

The leader eyeballed her and placed her hands behind her back. “If I were to grant this request, who would you have in mind?” she queried, curious to know the answer.

“Not quite who, but whom.” the bodyguard replied.

The mistress furrowed her brow. _Then that certainly narrows down the list. A bit of a risk, but there is no finer choice when it comes to wanton destruction._ After mulling it over in silence, she gave her assent. “So be it. The Patton Girls will be at your disposal Matilda. Happy hunting.”

************

Hanna Rudel took two quick swallows from her canteen and relished every drop of water that tumbled down her throat, even if it was piss warm, balancing her 37mm cannon with her right foot all the while. Sighing when she took it away from her mouth, the witch screwed the cap back on and readjusted her pillow, a scrap of canvas. Pottgen provided it and impressed on Hanna to take it with her. _Though it will be early morning, the sun will heat that stone to the point where you could cook eggs on it. Didn’t believe her until I tried it without the cover. Surprised my knickers didn’t go up in flames._ That reminded her to check her watch, and the colonel rolled up her left sleeve, revealing the timepiece. _Also told me to keep any bits of metal out of the sun. Good sort that Raisa._ It was 0800, but it felt like high noon with the sun beating mercilessly down on her. Though Hanna had ensconced herself between two dunes that gave her a bit of shade to work with, the rising orb of light was rapidly taking it away with every passing minute. _Elizabeth better hurry up with her tracking or else she’s going to report back to a strip of German bacon._

Rather than dwelling on her soon to be sauna, Rudel preoccupied herself with the immediate past. She recalled how excited everyone was when Marseilles told them that the British had been found and how that fevered pitch soon bottomed out into gloom when she told them where. _Dongola. Roughly eight hundred miles away._ To make matters worse, Rommel forbade them from flying except under the most extreme circumstances, citing possible enemy pursuit and lack of supplies, forcing the 31st JFS to commandeer a troop transport for the whole lot of them. At first glance, it looked like a completely hopeless situation. Even after they jettisoned all nonessential equipment and Aaron volunteered to remain outside the vehicle so that his bulk wouldn’t drag them down, the weight made it so that the amount of gasoline they could feasibly carry would only get them six hundred miles. Thankfully, Amelie and Juliette came to the rescue, stripping the vehicle to a virtual skeleton and replacing most of the metal chassis with canvas. In the right light, the entire transport looked like some sort of mobile hand puppet theater act on wheels. Pottgen painted the company standard on both passenger side doors and once the colors dried, they were off to the races, following the Nile as close as they could. In the beginning, it wasn’t too bad, but as they used up their supply, the load got lighter and lighter and it soon became apparent on the fourth day out that the transport had been gutted too much. Whenever they went over as much as a slight bump along the river, took a turn too sharp, or tried to swerve out of the way of roaming crocodiles, the vehicle would bounce into the air like a rubber ball or skid on two wheels. Changing drivers didn’t help much either. After getting jostled around for the umpteenth time, even with Aurora’s cautious driving, the lieutenant had had enough. She ordered Aaron to be in the transport at all times when it was moving, lying flat on his back on the metal flatbed to distribute the weight evenly. He took on the responsibility without protest, holding onto the bench legs to anchor him down. Divale did that for easily eighteen straight hours, his head rocking into the flatbed so often that Juliette became a full time medic, healing up welts that split open on the back of his skull.

On the fifth day, things began to turn up aces for the squadron. Before, wildlife had been plentiful along the Nile up to the Egyptian border, but the moment they crossed into Sudan, nothing. According to Beurling, that meant that British scavenger patrols had been foraging and hunting heavily in the area and that odds were high that they could locate them. Marseilles agreed and sent out her, Aaron, and Rudel. That had been well over twenty four hours ago and it was now the sixth day of their grand traveling adventure and so far, just like finding a stray scorpion, zip, zero, nada. A shrill bird call sent Hanna’s mind back into the here and now and she peeked around the side of the dune. Normally, a quick call of ‘Thunder’ would be appropriate, but the German knew that bird call very well and it didn’t belong to any feathered creature but her sweaty and smiling wingman who scampered over and took off an Australian trooper hat that she purloined before they left. Rudel didn’t question her where or how she got it. _Knowing her, it’s probably for the best that I don’t know._ “You find them?” Hanna asked.

Elizabeth wiped her right sleeve over her wet brow and shook her head no. “However, I did find something just as good. Follow me.” she stated. Together, the pair moved up and over the sand dunes, keeping low.

“You radioed Aaron?” Rudel inquired, not knowing if her friend’s zest overrided proper protocol.

Beurling, keeping her gait measured to the point where she was planting her feet in exactly the same places as she stepped before answered, “Of course, but he didn’t copy.”

Hanna furrowed her brow as she hefted her weapon. _Now that’s very strange. Aaron always acknowledges communications._ It was then that Elizabeth made a patting gesture with her right hand, silently signaling to her to get down. She did so and they crept up a slight rise in the sand, clumps of it cascading down like a tan avalanche with every step. Beurling laid down right on the gritty granules and whispered, “Check that out.” Rudel looked out and beheld a large river flood plain, dips and edges in the sand clearly indicating where water had once been, clumps of head sized rocks scattered about the place. Whatever moisture that once resided there had dried out completely, the overwhelming majority of it confined to the Nile proper. Past some sparse vegetation consisting of an assortment of green and brown reed like grass, the mighty river flowed at a decent rate, the sounds of the current lapping at the shoreline loud and crisp even from where they lay. A lone tall tree stood like a sentinel twenty feet away where, idling roughly underneath the the shadow that it cast, the most emaciated camel that either woman had ever seen. Its fur jutted out like a thick carpet, but even the shaggy coat was unable hide the sunken features. Knobby knees, sunken eyes, and the tell tale bumps of the ribs could be discerned clearly. With some squinting, Hanna could make out the major arteries and veins pulsating. _Poor thing. Has all the water in the world to drink, yet not a morsel to eat._ Elizabeth brandished her rifle and remarked, “Now don’t get me wrong Hanna. I’ve got nothing against that potted meat in our MRE’s, but there’s just something more satisfying gained when you bit into a hunk a meat that hasn’t been salted to death.” She pointed it at the animal, positioning herself to make sure that it was squarely in her sights. “Judging by how it looks, I’d be doing the poor thing a favor.” she added.

The German witch was, at first, quite demoralized. _That would mean that we’ve been out here for hours at a time for two straight days and had nothing to show for it except sunburns and ridicule._ Then, something that had lain dormant for a good while resurfaced with a vengeance. Being one that knew the benefits of fitness and diet, Rudel made every effort to eat only the healthiest foods. She had many staples: wheat, fresh fruit, lean protein, and plenty of liquids. All that and more were available except one: milk. Back in Europe, she made it a point to have it present at every meal. _But down in these parts, it’s about as rare as a diamond._ That simple, but sorely missed four letter word lodged itself right in her brain, causing her mouth to water uncontrollably. It was too much to hold back. “Hold off!” she commanded. “See if it’s a female!”

The Canadian glanced over at her friend with a cocked eyebrow. “What?”

“Take a look!” Rudel pressed. “You’ve got the binos!”

 _Oh shit, she’s got the milk withdrawals._ Resisting the urge to sigh, Beurling whipped out the binoculars from her right side uniform pocket and looked through them, swaying her head from side to side. “Can’t get a good look.” she replied, grimacing. “Sorry.”

Undeterred, the colonel decided to radio someone who might. “Aaron?” she messaged, “We need your help. Come in. Over.” Second after long drawn out agonizing second passed by and the warlock remained silent, making Hanna frustrated and cross. “Damn it Divale! Answer m-!” she blurted out.

“I hear you. I hear you.” Aaron finally responded, his tone a touched heated. “You don’t have to shout you know. What do you need? Over.”

“Where are you?” Rudel inquired.

“Up in the tree.” Divale replied. Both witches looked up into the semi dense foliage near the top and could barely make out his bronze orbs.

“What the fuck are you doing up there for?!” Elizabeth asked, squinting her eyes.

“Getting a good view of the terrain.” the warlock answered. “I can see you both from here, well, at least from the chest up.”

Beurling instinctively looked down at her bust and realized that her position revealed quite a bit. Putting on a slick smile, she inquired, “Like what you see?”

“Sorry, can’t hear you.” Aaron curtly deflected. “So what’s all this fuss about Rudel? Over.”

“I need you to see if that camel there is male or not. Over.” Hanna ordered.

An awkward silence followed. “Listen colonel, if you want a snuggle buddy for the cold nights out here, you can do a lot better than this. Over.” the lieutenant joked.

Elizabeth guffawed into the crook of her right arm while Hanna blossomed into several shades of red out of embarrassment and annoyance. “Look here asshole, I’m not in the mood to play around.” Rudel seethed into the communicator. “Just do what I say. Over.”

“Alright.” Divale stated. “Give me a second to adjust myself here.” The sounds of light grunting could be heard over the radiowaves and the witches could see parts of the long fern like leaves of the tree sway to and fro as if caught in a breeze. “Congratulations,” he announced, “we have a girl. Kind of hard to tell for the most part. That apparatus she’s packing looks like a wrinkled shaved scrotum with flesh tags.”

The image that Aaron’s words invoked in their minds send shudders of revulsion down Beurling’s spine. She looked over at Hanna who seemed completely impervious to such mental pictures and appeared ecstatic. “Excellent.” she breathed. “I need you to somehow knock it out so I can get some milk from her. Over.”

“So this is what this is all about?” Divale queried with disbelief in his voice. “I hope you know that this isn’t going to be like cow’s milk and it certainly wouldn’t come out cold. From where I’m standing, you’d be lucky to get powdered.”

“Cow, camel, doesn’t matter at all to me.” the German witch proclaimed. “Milk is milk. It’s all kosher.”

“About as kosher as bacon wrapped shrimp cocktail.” the warlock retorted.

Elizabeth let out a groan. “Whatever the fuck you’re going to do make it snappy! I’m roasting out here!” she countered sharply.

“Okay.” Aaron replied. “Preparing Operation Dead Drop in three-” He didn’t even get to two before the camel below suddenly let out a pained bellow and slumped over into the tree truck, sliding down by degrees until it collapsed flat on it’s empty and fairly nonexistent stomach. Without needing an order to do so, Beurling looked again through her binoculars to see what was up. The sand around the camel’s head was darkening and the witch realized that it was blood. _But where is it coming from?_ Tracing the flow, Elizabeth beheld a long thin rod of wood, the shaft moistened with vitae, and a sharp head made of metal lying between the camel’s ears. _An arrow? Who the hell would use a bow and arrow in this day and age?_ As if to answer her questions, movement could be seen near the riverbed followed closely by a strange series of sounds, like the kind that would come from a horn. Soon, other higher pitched horn like sounds emerged, and then, stepping up and out of the river bed, trailing water down long trousered legs, was a man in a full British army uniform, playing away at his bagpipes. Upon his back there was a quiver full of arrows and an English longbow and at the right side of his waist was a Scottish broadsword, the tough leather scabbard sending droplets of water everywhere every time it smacked into the side of his leg. He was around 5’8”, had hazel eyes, and looked positively tanned and gruff. It was mostly due to the eyebrows, thin yet long that angled sharply downwards towards his nose and cleft chin, giving him the appearance of someone who just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Adding to his rather curmudgeonly persona was a slightly receding hair line of light brown hair, his black beret doing very little to disguise his age which Beurling theorized was around his forties. Her jaw dropped at the mere sight of him, a walking talking representation of a bygone era where men fought on horseback in shining suits of armor. _A British officer killing a camel with a longbow shot and playing ‘March of The Cameron Men’ on bagpipes?_ _Now I’ve seen everything._

“What and who the fuck is that?” Hanna muttered, just as shocked as she was.

Despite the jolt, Elizabeth got over it and beamed, “It’s part of the British scavenger teams! We found them at last!” She fumbled with the contents of her right uniform pocket and pulled out the ankh, peering through the eye to see if he was an enemy. “And he’s perfectly legitimate!” she added, unable to contain her joy. Wanting to give her friend a hug, the Canadian looked over at her German counterpart and her happiness went to deep concern. Rudel simply stared at the officer, marching without a care in the world towards the dead camel, the dead female camel that she wanted a bit of milk from, eyes full of rage and malicious intent. Beurling had no idea if Aaron could see what was going on, but was confident that if he did, he’d know exactly what was going to happen next. _Someone is getting fucked up._

“That mother fucking son of a bitch!” Hanna hissed through gritted teeth, shouldering her cannon. A hand shot up from Elizabeth, but the witch smacked it way with the barrel of her gun as she hopped up, planted her foot squarely atop the dune, and aimed right at the man. “Hey asshole!” she screamed, pulling the bolt back hard so that he could hear it. The tactic worked and the officer stopped dead in his tracks, the bagpipes going silent as the mouthpiece flopped out, staring up at the incensed witch. “You know what they do to people who steal food from a hungry mouth where I’m from?!”

“If it’s anything close to what they do to them where I’m from ma’am, than I shudder at the mere thought.” the man yelled back, oblivious to a weapon pointing at him that could shred him to pieces one 37mm shell at a time. “Of course, I’m a long way from where I’m from, and judging by your accent, even longer from where you’re from.”

“Hanna! Cool it!” Beurling shouted, springing up and lowering her friend’s cannon down and away, trying to defuse the situation. “He’s one of us!”

The officer gazed intently at the ankh Elizabeth held and breathed a sigh of relief. “And you’re one of ours too.” he stated. “What are your names loves?”

“I’m Sergeant Elizabeth Beurling and this is Colonel Hanna Rudel, both 31st JFS. The lieutenant is up the tree above you.” the witch answered, gesturing above the Brit.

The man turned his head around and up just in time to see the massive form of Aaron plunk down from above like a meteor and rise to his full height. “Morning.” the warlock warmly greeted, extending his hand. “Lieutenant Aaron Divale, 31st JFS. And who might we have the pleasure of talking to?”

“Lieutenant Colonel John Churchill, head of Commando Group A, British Eight Army. Friends call me Mad Jack. And before you ask, no, I’m not related to the Prime Minister.” Churchill replied, taking Aaron’s hand and shaking it as best he could without losing it among the long digits. He took another look up the tree and commented, “Didn’t your mother tell you to always announce your arrival when you visit?”

Divale ended the handshake courteously and shrugged. “Never was a good listener LC.” he admitted. “But, she she did tell me to always to call ahead if we have guests.” With that, he stepped away and started communicating with Marseilles, a conversation that Rudel largely ignored. She barely even acknowledged John as she walked up to the carcass and shook her head.

The lieutenant colonel gazed down at his handiwork and sighed. “Wished she was a bit bigger, but you have take what you get out here. Might not come around a second time if you get me.” he uttered regretfully, kneeling down and working the fletching end, wanting to remove the arrow and reuse it.

“It’s not that.” Hanna responded gruffly. “I wanted to get some milk from her beforehand. I’d sell my soul for a glass of milk right now.”

Churchill nodded and reached underneath the bagpipes, ignoring his task for the time being, pulling out a thermos, and offering it to the grumpy German with his left hand. “Careful where you say that.” he advised. “The Devil is always searching for bargains.” Hanna’s head whipped around so hard and fast that a breeze came off, along with some pops of vertebrae. She eyed the container like it was made of pure gold and snatched it from the man’s hand. Feverishly, she went right to work, unscrewing the cap like it was pill bottle. Once off, she could see that the thermos was full of white frothy milk. Her eyes widened and her heart beat faster with expectation as he put the vessel to her lips, leaned back, and started loudly gulping it down with reckless abandon. As soon as the lukewarm liquid hit her taste buds, tears started to well up. _Oh my God have I missed this._ “Slow down there lass.” John warned, pulling the arrow out of the camel’s skull with a good yank. “You’ll give yourself a gut ache if you suck it down like that.”

Rudel’s stomach filled up with slightly warm, yet very satisfying milk and she removed her lips from the thermos, unleashing a loud raucous burp. To prevent people from seeing her face go red with shame, she quickly picked up the cap, dusted it off, screwed it back on, and handed it back to Churchill. “Thank you very much.” she managed to say while wiping the milk mustache from her face with her right shirt sleeve.

“My pleasure colonel.” Mad Jack stated, taking back his thermos and getting up from the groundwith the arrow in his other hand. “Though I’m sure besides food and drink, your CO would like a bit of my company.” he added regarding Elizabeth.

Beurling caught the drift and called out to Aaron who looked to have finished his call, “How long before they get here?”

“Five minutes.” Divale yelled back, grabbing the camel with his left hand and pulling it up and over his shoulders as if it weighed nothing. A quick sniff by him later and his face soured with disgust. “Fuck sakes, even in death these fuckers reek.” he spat.

Leaving him to his odious task, the sergeant inquired, “Where are you encamped?”

“About an hour and a half south of here.” Churchill replied. “But with my driving, we’ll make it in much less than that.”

**********************

As the transport neared another dune crest at speeds a sane driver would deem unsafe if not reckless, First Lieutenant Hanna-Justina Marseilles felt a creeping sensation running up and down her rigid spine. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, not by a long shot, but even in her wildest dreams did she ever think it would resurface in this particular situation. Within a heartbeat, her mind flashed six random words, which, when strung together in a sentence, belonged to many a happy sounding novel that ultimately turned tragic: It started oh so innocently enough. Cursing silently to herself, Hanna wondered why she didn’t connect the dots almost an hour earlier as she looked back at recent events.

When the rest of the squadron arrived, Marseilles made it a point that everyone had to be presentable to the lieutenant colonel. To that end, the squadron washed up and stood at attention as the quartet marched with purpose towards them. At first glance, nothing was amiss. Rudel and Beurling were grinning from ear to ear, Churchill was playing away at his bagpipes, which in conjunction with his longbow and broadsword raised more than a few eyebrows, and Divale was lugging the most foul smelling camel this side of the Egyptian border on his shoulders, the occasional drop of blood oozing out of the ears. The odor was so offensive that she ordered Aaron to bathe immediately, a task that the lieutenant took to with relish and no complaint, seemingly happy to rid himself of the stinking carcass. John politely introduced himself to the first lieutenant and everyone else in turn. When he got to Edmund and Audie, the former looked like he was about to faint while the later was left scratching his head in wonder. Raisa told her later that Peterborough knew of Mad Jack and idolized him, saying that he was the reason why he wanted to be in the SAS. Murphy, on the other hand, swore up and down that he’d seen the man in a movie somewhere.

Regardless of whether the British officer was a closet celebrity or not, the man wished to have a spot of breakfast consisting of coffee and camel meat, a unique combination indeed. Amelie was tasked with grilling the main course, and though she did her best to cook it to everyone’s likeness, the meat was so gamey that Helga likened it to beef jerky which then triggered an animated conversation between her, Juliette, and Aurora, on whether a camel would qualify as beef. In the meantime, when Pottgen inquired the lieutenant colonel as to why he carried such outdated weapons on his person, the man replied that a loyal officer and servant of the crown without such things was considered in his mind not fully dressed. At that point, that remark right there should’ve clued all involved that the gentleman was quite eccentric if not borderline insane, but alas, nothing came of it as Marseilles didn’t wish to upset him. As that highly intellectually suspect debate raged, all ate their fill, a feat that didn’t take much time considering how much there was to begin with. Upon finishing his meal, Mad Jack offered to drive them to the base, an opportunity which Wilma, the assigned driver for the day and not too keen on being harassed by her superior’s repeated inquiries to go slower, wasted no time with, tossing him the keys. Camp was broken up and all loaded into the back of the vehicle. Pottgen, wary of the rather eccentric individual taking the wheel, sat in middle of the cabin, between her friend and Mad Jack.

The transport hit the crest and the whole kit and caboodle went up and flew as majestically as a vehicle of its size through the air, the cries and protests of the passengers who had the misfortune of riding in the back echoing loudly through the open slot in the divider panel. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the lieutenant, left hand pressed firmly up on the overhead and right grabbing the oh shit handle for dear life, glanced around the cabin confines. Pilot Officer Pottgen had both hands on either seat next to her, her fingers digging into the cushion and legs wrapped around the gear box as if trying to choke it. Churchill had the most devilish smile to his face as he leaned forwards, riding the momentum. His eyes flashed with glee and rapt anticipation as he spun the steering wheel just so. Now, more than ever, Hanna realized, regrettably an hour too late, that she fucked up.

A resounding crash and boom split the air as the transport finally made earth fall, the human beings within jostled around like beads in a baby rattle. Despite the hard landing, the damn thing miraculously held together and rocketed forwards. “Now that was a ride now wasn’t it!” John exclaimed, his right foot punching the accelerator to the floor. When his enthusiastic comment went unanswered, he went on. “You have to give those French engineers credit for doing a bang up job on this beauty! Any normal lorry taking a jump like that would have had the transmission split in half!”

“I’ll definitely take it under advisement.” Hanna breathed, more so out of relief than replying to the maniac behind the wheel.

“And you’ve got to extend a big thank you to the dead weight.” Mad Jack added, taking his eyes off the path for a quick second to address Aaron. “How you doing back there guvner?” he called out over his right shoulder.

“Fan-fucking-tastic!” the warlock replied loudly, clearly not happy with the way he was driving. “I live and breathe for ballast duty!”

“What was that?” Churchill inquired, his devil like grin making a comeback. “You fancy another bump?”

The response was instant and not cheerful. “How about no you crazy English bastard!” Aaron roared from presumably the floor. “And while you’re at it, go f-”

John closed the slit with a flunck sound, chuckling as he cut off Divale’s complaint. “Mouthiest bugger I’ve ever laid eyes on, but a decent sort. I could tell that he was fine officer material the moment I saw him.” he stated, returning his attention back to where it belonged.

“If you want him, you can have him.” Hanna remarked indifferently. Suddenly a sharp pain shot up her left leg and she looked down just in time to see Raisa retracting her right hand and giving her a very angry stare.

A hand shaped red mark barely began to blossom on Marseilles skin before Mad Jack stated, “Don’t tempt us with such an offer lieutenant. Even after we reorganized, we’re still mighty short on officers.”

“Was it that bad?” Pottgen asked, leaving Hanna to rub the soreness out of her left leg.

“Some days the word lost all meaning.” Churchill replied sadly, sighing. “Before the great reversal a few months ago, we had easily a quarter million men. With the sole exception of the German and possibly the Japanese, we had more men and material in North Africa than anyone else. Had more boots on the ground than the Americans, Italians, and those random French Foreign Legion blokes combined. Nowadays, we’re probably hovering around eighty five thousand altogether.”

That figure made Hanna furrow her brow. “Last I heard there were one hundred thousand.” she commented.

“Emphasis on were.” John pointed out. “I wasn’t joking when I said things were bad. During the march south, many of the lads lost heart and went native out of despair or fear. Wouldn’t have been so bad if it was from the common rank and file, but most of those deserters came from the officers. When you combine casualties and defection, our loss rate among that group was easily in the seventy percent range. Let me paint this pretty picture. Imagine if you will nearly half of our force, infantry, artillery, armor, the works, without line sergeants. You could count on less than two hands the number of individuals who held a rank higher than captain and that includes me and the general. Some units were being led by corporals and PFC’s.” He shook his head and wet his lips. “Rough times they were, very rough. Thank God for Monty. Without him, I don’t think anyone would’ve stepped up and kept us together the way he did.”

“How bad did the witch units suffer?” Raisa ventured, not sure if she wanted to know the truth.

“One word pilot officer,” John illuminated, “mauled. Less than thirty squadrons. General kept that information hush hush. The situation was bad enough without letting the lads see how the other half fared. Sent them all a ways south and barred any fraternization unless it was cleared by him personally.”

Both German’s were shocked at the revelation. _They sent their most effective deterrent away?_ “But didn’t you think that it was a bad idea to do so? Leaving yourselves exposed to attack like that?” the lieutenant gasped.

“There wasn’t much dissent among Monty’s inner circle.” Churchill explained. Then he gave a curious grunt and added, “Then again such a thing is to be expected when your inner circle is either dead or skulking wherever. I gave my two cents on the matter, but in the end, I’m a lieutenant colonel and he’s a general. Someone’s word is going to carry more weight than the other.” He made a lazy right turn and zoomed up a small hill. “We’re coming up on it now.” he informed with a smile. “Welcome to Dongola, our Sudanese paradise.”

Relieved that the trip was over and that they wouldn’t have to experience any more high flying maneuvers, both Hanna and Raisa inched out of their seats to get a glimpse of the city. Both imagined it to be full of nice squat looking buildings, a bustling riverside port authority, and even entertainment. As the transport crested the hill overlooking a small valley and the German’s gazed upon the camp, those assumptions were not only proven wrong, but torpedoed and left to sink with nary a life preserver thrown their way. Instead of blocky buildings, there were massive canopies staked into the ground that encompassed vast swathes of the area. A few seemed to protect entrances that led into the earth, ones clearly marked by weathered walls and tall columns made by ancient hands long since dead and forgotten. Ruins were more abundant than dunes, remnants of what looked like churches and old harbors. Far above it all, was a massive structure with a dome and four towers, all made of some stronger rock that allowed it to stand the test of time and nature. Here and there were tents, trench lines, sandbagged foxholes with AA or machine guns, artillery emplacements, or dug in tanks in a hull down position, revealing nothing but the turret. Surrounding all of it were miles and miles of barbed wire fencing and fortified checkpoints. However, parts of the wall of sorts looked to be part of the original site or were made of armored plates welded together and stuck into the sand, a combination of old and new that gave the place a haphazard look to it. “So what do you think?” Mad Jack asked, gesturing with his left hand at the grand spectacle as brought the vehicle to a halt.

“I think we might want to look at a map.” Hanna remarked as politely as she could to mask her deep disappointment. “Nothing against you, but I believe we might have made a wrong turn.”

“I have to agree.” Raisa concurred. “I’ve never been this far south before, but I can tell that this can’t possibly be Dongola.”

“Oh it certainly is Dongola.” Churchill replied matter of factly. “At least until the locals decided to pack up shop and move south a good twenty five miles on the opposite bank three hundred years ago. Back in the day, it was a trading center leading up from Khartoum along the way through Egypt until it hit Cairo.” He pointed to some of the ruins and went on, “Those right there are old Christian churches believe it or not. Coptic from what I remember. They all got swept away when the Muslims came in.” Churchill then took his foot off the brake and pressed down on the accelerator, going strangely slow for a change. His manner took on the impression of an enthusiastic tour guide. “This whole place was practically buried under sand until some European archaeologists went digging. The Great War put a stop to that for a good while and when they came on back to resume their work, they were driven off by grave robbers who took up the task they left behind. As you could imagine, they weren’t too happy, but when they tried getting elements of the army down here, they said no way. As far as they were concerned, the money was needed elsewhere and it was their land so they had a right to claim what was theirs.” he continued

“Largely ignoring the fact they were thieves.” Marseilles scoffed.

“That’s what I thought. By the time we came on down, they had long since left. They might have been no better than bandits, but they certainly knew how to dig. Uncovered entire underground passageways that crisscrossed like a maze underneath the whole city. Must have taken years. The tunnels were so wide in parts that we could drive this here lorry through. Absolutely remarkable engineering went into it. Makes the sewers of London look like a child’s science fair project.” Mad Jack marveled.

“I take it the witches were sent to this New Dongola?” Pottgen queried.

“Right O.” John answered, nearing a checkpoint. “Regardless of the time of day, we have at least five full squadrons waiting for the go ahead to tally ho.”

“How long would it take them to get here?” Hanna asked.

“One second there lieutenant.” Churchill replied. He quickly rolled down his window and looked down at sergeant. “I’ve got orders to take them up to the general Oliver. Make it quick.” he advised.

“Understood LC.” the sergeant stated. “Have all passengers present space out so that we can ankh them.”

It was at that moment that the sound of someone’s knuckles rapping against a pane echoed loudly in Marseilles’ right ear. Knowing what she had to do, the lieutenant grabbed the lever and rolled the window down. Once she got to where she could see out, Hanna peered into the blue eyes of another sergeant and just managed to catch the boot heels of two more soldiers disappearing behind the vehicle. The man was busying himself with pulling out his ankh, not paying attention to her one bit. Once he finally got it out, he turned and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out a sharp inhalation of breath. His jaw dropped, revealing generations of inherited dental architecture of the crooked variety and exclaimed, “Blimey! That’s First Lieutenant Hanna-Justina Marseilles of the 31st JFS! The Star of Africa herself!”

“That’s right!” Raisa piped up from the middle of the cabin, climbing up into her friend’s lap and pointing at the sergeant with her right index finger. She fixed him with a deadly stare and went on, “And she’s not to happy with being held up for an important appointment by your gawking. You’re British Eight Army sergeant! Act like it!”

That knocked old blue eyes back into reality. “Yes ma’am!” he blurted, hastily gazing through the hole in the ankh. After a few seconds, he stepped back and called out, “All clear!”

“All clear for cargo as well!” another voice bellowed. Marseilles tried to crane her neck around to see, but Pottgen apparently had enough and rolled up the window as fast as she could.

“Cracking job pilot officer.” the lieutenant colonel congratulated. “Couldn’t have done a finer job myself.”

“I’ve had practice.” Raisa said, nestling herself in Hanna’s lap. The trio watched as two soldiers raised the bar and waved them on through.

Mad Jack went forwards and finished, “And to get back to your question lieutenant, the squadrons can get here in ten minutes flat.” As the transport moved on through the encampment, word seemed to spread faster than they were going. Whispers became murmurs, murmurs became excited talking, and exciting talk erupted into raucous cheers as scores of British soldiers ventured from whatever crevice they were in waving their hands and caps, throats alive with huzzah’s and hooray’s at finally being found at last.

Snuggled with Hanna in the driver’s side passenger seat, Raisa looked upon all with subdued awe. She sighed deeply, doing her best to overcome the internal groans within at such display of idolization. _Here we go again Rai, back to the good old days before we got sent back to Egypt._ _I can practically hear Hanna behind me smile at the attention she’s getting. That’s fine, but some admirers get carried away which means I get to carry them away. No one gets near my best friend without my say so._ A little break among the sea of soldiers caused her look out the window, trying to get an answer as to what could possibly create a breach like that. Rising up about fifteen feet in the area was a domed shrine, a qubbas, a place where Muslims would bury their dead, leave votive offerings, and pray. It was scarred and pitted by age, but still maintained its magnificence. However, in and around the structure, were makeshift kitchens serving the days chow. The cooks took ladles and spooned portioned food into small metal bowls and left them on a series of benches that sat over top mounded dirt and rocks. Pottgen’s heart stopped at the sight for she knew better than anyone else in that transport what those mounds were. Though seen by many as Marseilles’ lackey, Raisa was more than that. She was a friend, diplomat, and fighter, especially when it came to respecting rights and beliefs of other cultures, and to see such a flagrant disregard for the dead made her blood boil. Whipping her head around, the pilot officer pointed to the scene and seethed through gritted teeth at Churchill, “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

Mad Jack returned her envenomed words with a look that made it clear to her that he knew exactly what she was talking about. “I do,” he admitted sadly, “and I don’t like it one damned bit. When the order came down from the general to make room as he called it, I openly refused to do any work, saying that my job as a soldier for God, crown, and country was to put hats in the ground, not dig them up, mine, theirs, or otherwise. Did three days in the brig for that and it was worth every second.”

“To make room?!” Pottgen reiterated, eyes wide with anger and shock. “A simple readjustment in the perimeter and there’s plenty of room to go around! Hell, you could even use the underground passages! What kind of insensitive-”

John suddenly twitched his head to the left and placed his right hand on his ear communicator. “This is Churchill. Read you loud and clear.” she stated. A second later and he straightened up in his seat. “Yes general sir. Right away sir.” He killed the link and regarded the still infuriated witch once more. “That was Monty. He says that as soon as we get up to that palace, that both of you and Mister Potty Mouth back there need to see him ASAP. After your chat, and I can’t stress this enough to you, all of you are to stay within the compound not just for privacy’s sake, but also for your own protection. I’m not saying that someone out here is going to do anything stupid, but considering how much trouble we’ve had, it’s best to be safe than sorry. If you have to absolutely go out, take one of the gents in tow with you.”

The news did little to calm Raisa’s mood, but she nodded and crossed her arms in front of her chest, stewing. _Protection you say? The only person in that place that’s going to need any protection is that bastard general of yours. You’d best make sure that I don’t get within hand’s reach of him because I don’t think I can trust myself._

*******************

The near empty hallway echoed with four sets of footfalls as Mad Jack, Hanna, Raisa, and Aaron traversed the interior of a palace that hadn’t regaled such august figures in centuries. Leading the way was the lieutenant colonel, making sure that with each turn along the way to shoo off any would be loiterers. Right behind him was Marseilles, doing her best to get lost in the carved patterns etched into the stone walls and minding her friend Pottgen who walked by her side, tiny hands balled into fists and looking just as peeved as when they got out of the transport. _She’s on the high horse again. Can’t blame her for that though, but there’s a time for that and this isn’t it. We’d been sent here to get General Montgomery back into the fight and I’m not going to have you have us high tail it back home with our tails between our legs and hands empty. Calm down my friend. I need you thinking clearly._ As if she heard her thought, the pilot officer looked up at the lieutenant and gave her a look that signified neither yes or no, but ‘I make no promises or guarantees’. Bringing up the rearguard was Divale, slightly rubbing the soreness out of the back of his head. After exchanging pleasantries with the driver, capped off with a subtle salute of the one fingered variety, the warlock also seemed to have picked up on the aura of ill omen projected by her German subordinate, making sure to be within arm’s reach of her at all times. _Good to see. About the only smart thing you’ve done all day._

Churchill’s pace slowed down and he stepped off to the side, revealing to the expectant trio a thick slab of rock with a gap just wide enough to slip one’s fingers through on the left. John inserted his left hand into the space and asked, “You all ready?” Triple nods answered in silence, some less eager than others, and with a huff, the lieutenant colonel took hold of the stone block and slid it across a worn down channel that had been carved into the floor. Breaks in the imprint spoke of filler that had been placed there by dutiful attendants who made a correct choice in choosing to keep with the current slender model rather than carve, lug, and insert a new, taller, and much heavier piece in a few years time. When the crack widened enough, all stepped over the threshold and into General Montgomery’s inner sanctum. For such an important position, Hanna was amazed at how small and bare it was. The room was ten by ten with polished stone floors and one large window behind a raised dais, the top devoid of any throne. Sunlight streamed in, coating the area with a faint hint of gold wherever one looked. Tall columns on the left and right walls buttressed a ceiling that was easily twelve feet high, bordering a large sun sculpted with precision and care high above, notches within the work indicating that it had held inserts of some kind in the distant past. Near those supports were wooden crates labeled with charcoal, their contents unknown and a small fit pit where a tea kettle rested comfortably on a wire mesh over gently burning sticks. In their immediate front was a very ramshackle table with dog or termite gnawed legs and three chairs that looked like they were plucked from a third hand thrift shop. On closer inspection, several words in the local dialect on the face revealed to her that it was probably once a road sign.

Mad Jack slid the portal closed, marched up to the front of the table, saluted, and proclaimed, “The 31st JFS is here to see you general.”

“Thank you John.” a strong voice answered. “Also, please stay a while. I could use the company.” Squinting, Marseilles tried to pinpoint where the general was, but without much success until a dark form circled into full view from around the right side of the dais. As her eyes adjusted, Hanna soon beheld General Montgomery at long last. He was fairly tall, easily 5’8” if he removed his boots and stocky. A dark tan was firmly entrenched on his personage, making his late fifties ages look much less. Wearing a khaki uniform with matching undershirt and tie, he perfectly matched his environment, save for a pitch black beret with so many awards on the right side that if he’d decided to invert the hat it would simply slide off his salt and pepper grayed head. The general was staring right at them, a piercing gaze that reminded the lieutenant of a bird of prey, a look that exemplified his natural hawkish face and long nose. After sizing them up, Montgomery smiled, one that was as genuine and welcoming as one a grandfather would use when seeing his grandchildren. “Welcome to our summer palace. I’m glad to see you all.” he announced. Gesturing with his right hand to the chairs, he offered, “Please have a seat. We’ve much to discuss and the kettle’s about to go off.”

Hanna nodded and quickly sat in the first chair, the far left. Aaron swooped right in and planted himself gingerly in the seat on the far right. This left Raisa little choice but to take the center, a position that would put her right across from the general for Montgomery then took his seat on the bottom of the stone steps, looking like an out of place tourist at a Roman amphitheater. Noting the placement, Divale made a move to nudge his chair a hair closer to Pottgen, but she gave him such a sideways glance that he meekly retreated, head shrinking into his neck like a scared turtle. Suddenly, the kettle started singing it’s shrill song over the fire pit and Churchill walked briskly towards it, pulling out a handkerchief from his right breast pocket as he did so. Wrapping the cloth around his left hand, he grabbed the handle and lifted the vessel up off the fire and rummaged around in an open wooden crate nearby. The clattering of fine china echoed as he produced four saucers and cups, each one balanced on top of the other. With the care of a skilled waiter, the lieutenant colonel came back to the table and started distributing the wares, a feat of coordination that seemed to impress Aaron. “You’ve done this before haven’t you?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Serving a spot of tea for a Brit is as natural as breathing for everyone else.” Churchill replied as he started to pour the tea. He even followed traditional serving patterns, beginning with the ladies and then ending with the men, with the eldest being served first. When he was done, he stood off to Monty’s left. 

Once the cups were filled, the general took up his with two pinched fingers and hailed, “To being lost and later found.” All returned the gesture and sipped the still piping hot liquid. Montgomery smacked his lips as he finished his swallow. “Now if that doesn’t get you out of bed in the morning, nothing will.”

Marseilles did her best to get the tea down her throat without insulting her host. _My God this is so bitter! How long did they steep this for? Overnight?_ She covered her mouth to cough politely and lied through her fingers, “It’s quite a potent pick me up.”

“My apologies for not providing any cream or sugar, but we ran out of those luxuries some time ago.” the general stated humbly.

“Not too much of a problem here.” Aaron countered,taking another sip. “I like my drinks strong.”

“I’m sure you do.” Raisa muttered, her words sounding off due to the liquid in her mouth.

“Either way,” Montgomery pointed out, eager to move the conversation along, “I’m glad your illustrious General Rommel sent the best down to hear out my reinstatement.”

Hanna smiled and was about to say something, but that last word, ‘reinstatement’, raised red flags within her. “What do you mean by that general?” she inquired, hoping that he misspoke.

The Brit cleared his throat and reiterated, “I want to be granted certain rights and privileges in return for my services to the cause.”

Pottgen coughed mid gulp, the words too much for her to take, droplets of extra strong tea flying everywhere and dousing her lap. She put the cup down back on the saucer, hacking up a lung all the way. Aaron immediately fished out a handkerchief and held it out. Raisa nodded in thanks and placed it over her mouth for a few more seconds before her cough fit died down and the rest of the tea went down the right tube. Wiping up her mess as best as she could, the pilot officer fixed the general with a stare and asked, “Are you serious? We crossed over eight hundred miles to find you and you say that you want some concessions in return for doing your duty? That’s absolutely prep-”

“Perplexing.” Hanna hastily interrupted, hopefully sparing embarrassment and an end to the talk before it even began. “Why would you attach such things?”

“I will freely admit that I do not have any selfish ambitions in play here.” Montgomery assured. “I deeply desire to get back into the fight and finish what I started, but I will only do it if I can get some pledge from my counterpart.”

“Is there an issue between you and Rommel?” Divale queried with cocked eyebrow.

“Quite possibly.” the man frankly admitted. “And let me explain. What made the original class of leaders on this front so effective was that all followed the same offensive philosophy. Stumme, Tellera, Patton, and I all agreed that in order to effectively push the enemy back, we had to do so with maximum effort from all. Air power, artillery, armor, and massed motorized infantry all advancing in unison on a broad front, hitting everywhere and forcing the enemy back by sheer grinding weight. With me at the center, Stumme and Tellera on the flanks, and Patton lurking in the background, we surged all the way to Tunis in a matter of months when our skeptics said that our progress was too ponderous for their liking. Sure some parts of the journey were a touch and go at times, but they couldn’t stop us. Even when they got behind their entrenchments and launched counteroffensives, Patton would deflect the blow and deliver the knockout that we needed or our massive formations turtled up and made them pay for every step.”

“But what does that have to do with General Rommel?” Raisa inquired. “He’s a carbon copy of you all in the end.”

“In ends yes, but not in means.” Monty clarified. “Your majordomo is an avid adherent of the German blitzkrieg school where the main jest is to concentrate your forces into a spear tip and plunge it into a certain weak point in the enemy lines, creating a gap, and then flooding it with everything you’ve got to force the enemy to relocate. While effective, there are two problems, the first of which is that it requires a certain environment to function properly and Africa is not that environment. Over there, much of it is civilized with all the trappings that provides. It’s largely urban with roads everywhere. Here, it is a different story. True, you can easily traipse along the coastline where the roads would serve you well, but once you get out of the major cities, there’s nothing to help you. Rough terrain and the ability of the foe to get into our backsides every time we venture out, hampers supply lines, stretching them to the point where you’re allocating more men to safeguard that than you are the front.” He leaned forwards and almost casually added with an air of confidence, “The second thing, one which I dare any of you to refute, is that the sole purpose of blitzkrieg is to end conflict quickly and decisively. It’s all about creating and maintaining momentum. I’ve read up on what Rommel had done during the Great War in Italy and his various actions on the Eastern Front is this war and I’ve found a disturbing pattern. Time and time again, he pushes forward with almost reckless abandon. Though his own superiors tell him to stop, the man continues further afield, much faster than ever, opening himself up to encirclement and forcing other units from other sections to shift, disrupting the cohesion of the front. He nearly got encircled and annihilated more times than I can count.”

“He still got out though.” Marseilles retorted, desperately trying to retain some modicum of civility in the face of such blatant arrogance.

“But a lot of his men did not.” Montgomery drove home. “A-”

Upon hearing that, the warlock’s eyes flashed as he snapped his fingers, making everyone in the room look at him. “Aha!” he exclaimed, a faint grin to his face. “So that is what this is all about!” He took another sip from his cup and pointed it right at the general and then the lieutenant colonel. “You feel that Rommel is too reckless to the point where if you were told to follow him into the breach that it would only serve to stick your necks over the chopping block am I right?” Those words took the wind right out of the general’s sails and he leaned right back, sighing in defeat. “There’s no point in leading an army if you feel insecure about using it.” he added.

“Comes with the territory.” Montgomery stated. “Our nation has been both blessed and cursed with being an island. It gave us protection from the rest of the continent, but severely crippled any chance we had at creating and maintaining a sizeable army. We had no choice but to match tactics with reality. To survive, we had to husband our resources and only apply them to where they could do the most good and still come out more or less intact. I wasn’t there when things spiraled out of control, but I’ve seen enough aerial photos of Europe to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. So many brave souls, just like the ones right outside these walls, committed to a bad judgment call that caused their nations to fall. We can’t keep making those same mistakes. We need to step back and look at the bigger picture otherwise, by the time this war ends, what will be left?”

Pottgen listened to the rationale and found it very hard to argue against his reasoning. _He’s scared about the final tally, if there’s going to be a world to come back to when this is all over._ Softening her stance, she said, “I feel that way too sometimes general. When I think of Germany, my home, I have moments where I can’t fathom being able to go back there and live life as it once was. Yet here I am, still trying to do whatever it takes to get it back, still paying the price, because I don’t want anyone else to suffer the costs. Though your nation hasn’t been among those that were taken by the Neuroi, you, Mad Jack, and the rest of the 84,998 soldiers here get up every morning doing your part and bearing the burden, just like me.”

“She’s not exaggerating that point at all.” Aaron added. “You’ve done you parts. Ignoring the setbacks here in Africa, the costs of Dunkirk and The Blitz alone have ensured that Englishmen and Englishwomen everywhere will be on ration cards for the next decade. Such a price would bring any country to its knees, but you still stand proud.”

“Not all will be doom and gloom forever.” Marseilles stated. “The dominions and your allies have and will continue to help offset the load, all keeping in mind the bigger picture. But as rosy of a picture we’re painting, we need your help in finishing it. Rommel wouldn’t have us sent down here if he thought that he could do it alone. He knows your worth and your misgivings about certain subjects, and respects it. I’m certain whatever he plans for you will have your best interests intrinsically in mind.”

“And if you stick to your convictions, say no, and we leave empty handed, all you’ll do is hurt us and yourselves.” Raisa pointed out. “Every soldier that gets left behind is one more that the enemy won’t have to worry about.”

“I hate using these choice words, but if you wish to finish what you start, fucking finish it.” Aaron put forth, shocking the two witches next to him. “Don’t do so with the thought of gaining something in return. This war has moved the major players beyond such petty concerns.”

General Montgomery’s initial hawk like stare returned, his mind feverishly at work in processing the information. Turning to Mad Jack, he asked, “What do think of this lieutenant colonel?”

Churchill wasted no time in answering, “Their logic is sound general sir. I cannot argue against it.”

Regarding Hanna, the gaze vanished. “And neither can I.” Montgomery uttered, standing up, and extending his right hand out to her. “Rommel has his army unconditionally. At 0700 tomorrow morning, we make for Alexandria.”

Beaming like the sun above, Marseilles took the general’s hand and shook it. “Glad to hear.” The pair released their grips and John moved over to the door, not even needing to be ordered to do so, and pushed it back open. With measured steps, the victorious trio walked out and ventured up the hallway to exit. As they rounded the corner, Hanna noticed that no one was about and gestured for everyone to huddle together and keep their voices down.

However, the first one to break the silence wasn’t her. The warlock shrugged his shoulders and simply said, “I don’t know whether to call that masterful debating or pulling a rabbit out of our asses.”

“We shouldn’t have had to in the first place.” Raisa countered. “It should’ve been a simple negotiation on departure times, not trying to strong arm preferential treatment. No selfish ambitions he says. Fucking bullshit says I.”

“I didn’t like it either friend.” Hanna agreed. “Yet in the end, we got what we wanted. He gave his word, nixed the conditions, and we leave tomorrow morning. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a win win. Things are only looking up from here.”

Divale stood there and nodded. _That’s all a matter of perspective lieutenant. As much as I believe the man will stick to his oath, all it takes is two words to fuck it all up: mitigating circumstances._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt begins in the ruins of Dongola, but the lines between hunter and hunted quickly blur.

**_ **Chapter IX: Double Dog Dare** _ **

**_ _ **

_I stood there thinking to myself that I was in the clear. After all, basic psychology dictates that, under most circumstances, the bigger you are, the less inclined smaller individuals seek conflict with you. However, as I looked again around and saw just how my likewise inebriated company regarded me, I soon realized that this was, unfortunately, not most circumstances._

Diary Entry June 17th 1941

The private cupped his hands and blew into them, relishing the warmth that came rushing out of his mouth and wishing that he had more to give. _Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be freezing my arse off in the bloody desert. Then again, I never imagined myself out here in the first damned place._ This place happened to be a wooden guard post on the southernmost point of the entire perimeter, keeping watch out towards the true city of Dongola and the small hamlets that lay further down on either side of the river. The sun had set hours ago, cloaking the normally vibrant dunes in inky black. Though his lantern burned brightly, the grains seemed to absorb the light like a sponge, restricting visibility to a few meters. To make matters worse his position was situated at an odd angle, making it hard if not damn near impossible to see the other posts. It wasn’t the guard duty that vexed him this night, but the loneliness and homesickness. Briefly, he took his eyes and mind off the shrouded landscape around him and thought of England, of home. In the countryside where he grew up, the orchard near his family’s home would start smelling like apples, filling the air with a wholesome scent. His mouth watered at remembering how he’d walk home from work and casually reach out and pick a few from the branches that hung out into the road, eating them as he went. Sometimes, one of the apple grower’s daughters would be out there, doing trimming and grafting, and offer him some water when the days were unusually hot.

A gust of cold sand filled wind blew hard into the wooden sides of the guard post, a five by five shed really with enough space for a chair and a shit bucket, rattling the private back to reality, a grim dark one to say the least. “Best not think on those things now.” he muttered, rubbing his face with his hands before double checking to see if his Lee Enfield rifle was still in place against the left hand wall, just askew of the door. Shaking his head for the millionth time, he looked back out towards the south, into the night. _So fucking pointless to be out here. The locals know by now not to come by anymore._ It was then that his thousand yard stare picked up something less black and more gray moving through his vision. Surprised, he rubbed his eyes and looked again, wondering if his peepers were playing tricks on them. It was no illusion, something definitely was out there. With his left hand reaching for his rifle and the right grabbing the handle to his lantern, he called out, “Who’s there?! Come into the light and identify yourself!” With both hands full, opening the door was impossible for the private who decided to take the only logical exit left, the view port, which was about as big around as his wingspan was wide. Hiking up his right leg, he planted it firmly on the wood and vaulted out into the desert evening. Setting the lantern down on the sand, he backed two steps away, his rifle at the ready. _They never gave us trouble, but after the ruckus they made when we started digging around their old shrines, best to be safe than sorry._ His eyes picked out the shape and watched it get closer and closer, looming every larger in his gun sights. Soon, it revealed itself and it took the private’s breath away.

Standing out there, holding a small uncovered wicker basket, was a woman, a young girl that put any apple grower’s daughter to shame. She was tall, maybe taller than him even, with white and turquoise ribbons in her hair, a luxurious brown coif done in a ponytail that came to the tips of her strong shoulders. Around her neck was a necklace of brilliantly colored beads and metal trinkets in the shape of animals. An ivory white button up clothed her, barely extending into the panty line. She carried a simple leather sling on her left side, her only protection from wild animals. A pair of ivory colored sandals with turquoise straps completed the ensemble. The private’s brain registered his throat becoming dry, and quickly remembered that his jaw was hanging open. Still, he didn’t care and let it hang. _My God in heaven… If Africa was a woman, this would be her. Stunning, exotic, beautiful beyond words._ She regarded him with her brown eyes and asked with words as soft as a goose feather pillow, “Are you on duty tonight?”

“Uh huh.” the private managed to squeak out. However, he shook his head frantically to and fro, knocking some sense of professionalism back into him. “Yes.” he reiterated with confidence, puffing his chest out a tad in a show of machismo. “Who inquires and why are you out here at this time of night? You know visitors aren’t allowed unless cleared by the general.”

The woman’s face turned fearful and she quickly blurted, “I know that, but, but the nights have been very cold lately and we in my village feel sorry for you poor men who have to stay out at all hours.”

It was then that fear began to creep into the soldier. _I’m scaring her without any reason._ He lowered his rifle and did his best to calm her down. “I’m not going to hurt you lass. I’m only doing my job.” It seemed to work and his eyes moved to the basket she was holding “What’s in there?” he asked.

“Fruit and water.” the woman answered, much more at ease now. She held it out and added, “It’s all for-” A round plump orange fell from the top and rolled behind her, silencing her her words. “Oh dear.” she stated and proceeded to turn on her heels and bend over to pick it up. Now, if the private’s jaw wasn’t hanging low enough before, it practically unhinged. Blood rushed throughout his body as a young impressionable heart beat faster than an overclocked tank engine. _You may have given me fruit and water, but God damn I’m craving some other delectable treats right now._ Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in the center of his chest, causing his to wince and slap at the area. _Fucking bugs._ He withdrew his hand and felt something sticky between his fingers. Looking at the palm, the private could plainly see in the light a thick coating of fresh blood, his blood. Slowly, he noticed that the woman had already turned around, but the warm caring face she had earlier and devolved into a cruel cold grin.

Matilda watched as life drained from the soldier’s eyes, his legs losing the strength to support his frame. She causally wiped off the grit from the orange and placed it back into the basket, just as the private crumpled to the ground, stone dead. _Men. Gets them every time._ The wind picked up again, but before so much as a grain of sand could slam into the body, three other figures from the night revealed themselves and descended upon the scene. They were her hounds, the Patton Girls, land witches who specialized in armored warfare, and she knew them all by name for she had hunted them down and brought them into the fold for the mistress many months ago. The one grabbing onto the legs was Marilyn, a leggy, blue eyed, 5’5” blond from San Francisco with a tan that made her fit right in. Lugging the main part of the body was Abigail, a short woman with brown hair and hazel eyes, probably 5’2” if she stood on her tippy toes, hailing from New York City if her thick Brooklynite accent was anything to go by. The last one, the still smoking Welrod gripped firmly in her right hand was Patricia, the senior ranking member of the group before her indoctrination, same height as Marilyn, but more pale like the rest of her fellow Chicagoians. Everyone of them wore dark brown jackets with extra padding at the elbows and shoulders, GI green panties, and black leather helmets that looked like they belonged on a football player than a land witch. In addition to their main armament of a 76mm witch cannon, they carried Welrods and Thompson sub machine guns. When combined with their land Strikers, it made each one of them highly effective mobile assault platforms. She quickly reloaded the pistol and put it back into the holster that she wore off to her right side. Turning to Matilda, the American brunette with brown eyes commented, “If they’re going to react like that, maybe you should present arms more often.”

“If it only were that easy.” Matilda replied, picking up the lantern from the ground. The pair briskly walked to the guard post, taking great care to kick up some sand onto the blood trail to cover the dirty deed. Marilyn and Abigail opened the door and sat the dead private onto the chair, propping him up so that he didn’t move. Matilda stood with Patricia outside and placed the lantern back into the box. “Time?” she asked.

Marilyn looked down at her watch and answered, “2200 even. If reports are right, the next switch will be two hours from now.”

“More than enough time to raise some hell.” Abigail countered. She looked at Matilda and asked, “So what do we have to work with?”

Matilda hid her annoyance with a smile. _You three are the best hounds a hunter like me could ask for, a well oiled team like no other. But as individuals, you have a lot to be desired. You are enthusiastic to the point where you throw all caution to the wind, Marilyn is too timid for her own good, and Patricia has almost no shields left._ “Patience.” she advised as she touched one of the metal animal figurines on her necklace. The tiny elephant shaped effigy glowed blue and a sparkling trail whizzed through the air and hovered right over the dead private’s lap. It then disappeared, leaving behind two bags full of composition B explosives and detonators. “Who’s staying behind to safeguard our exit?” she inquired.

“I’ll stay.” Marilyn volunteered. With that said, Matilda reached into the basket and pulled out three small glass vials and one big one filled with roiling purple liquid that positively crackled with aetheric energy. _The mistress herself prepared these for us. Each contains a spell that will take us to wherever the large vial is and when that is broken, it will take us all back to Tunis._

Distributing the other two small vials to Abigail and Patricia, Matilda decided to make sure that their exit strategy was perfectly clear. “This is Exit Alpha. If something happens where you have to vacate, stick to the river and make your way down until you pass the hill. That will be Exit Beta. Got it?” she instructed. The American nodded in understanding and politely opened the door for Abigail to go outside, securing the explosives to her back. The trio walked slightly past the guard house and looked at the encampment. It was dimly lit, as it should be at such an hour, many of the men asleep. _And completely unaware of what’s about to happen._ Again, Matilda reached for her necklace and touched another metal animal, this one a lion. Another spark of magic blazed a path through the night air, terminating at her left hand. It winked out of existence and left behind her spear and shield, the former tucked into the hand strap of the latter. With practiced care, Matilda removed the assegai and let it rest comfortably over her right shoulder. A smile creased her lips and she announced, “The night is young ladies. Let’s go hunting.”

***************

The moment Aaron laid his head down on the pillow, the tension just dissipated, his eyes rolling into the back of his head out of sheer relaxation. Sighing, he whispered to himself, “Thank God for the small things in life.” Though his bedroll was calling for him to sleep, Divale found rest impossible, his mind wildly at work processing the whirlwind that was today. Shortly after their chat in the hallway, Mad Jack was tasked with showing them their accommodations. He led them deep into the palace, to the exact center of the structure almost, to what looked to be ancient storerooms or animal pens. As fate would have it, there were twelve of them exactly, but that was where destiny ended and disappointment began. Marseilles doled them out according to the age old principle of ladies first, a more than fair way of doing things in the warlock’s mind. When it came to be his turn to select his lodging, there wasn’t much choice. What ended up being his room was so small that Aaron could touch either wall without fully extending his arms, had to enter it hunched like an old woman, and when he laid out his bedroll, a good foot coiled up towards the low ceiling. Rudel saw the straits he found himself in and decided that it wasn’t fit for someone like him. She immediately offered him to bunk with her for the night, an offer that Divale accepted on the spot. _I’ve nothing against Beurling, but if I have to go through another night listening to her snore and talk in her sleep, I’ll lose my mind. She did however warn me that Hanna has a very blase view towards sleeping ‘in the buff’ though._ There were no doors to these rooms, just thick blankets that had been repurposed as curtain, long thick nails hammered into the rock holding them firmly in place. Common decency necessitated the warlock sleeping with clothes on for a change, but he had removed the entire top to his uniform and his socks and boots, letting his skin breathe and muscles stretch. Looking around the confines, ones much more larger than his original placement, he was amazed that the German witch shared many of his sentiments on carrying only what you need. That said, the only objects that took up any space were backpacks, guns, Hanna’s Strikers in the corner, a lantern between his bedroll and hers, and a small box of personal effects laying at the foot of Rudel’s sleeping bag.

Suddenly, his communicator buzzed in his ear. “Aaron? Can you hear me?” the distinctive voice of Nabakov asked.

Aaron sat up so fast that any normal person would have whiplash. Concern was evident in his voice when he answered? “Tatiana? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine Aaron, I’m fine.” the Russian replied, putting Divale’s fears for the time being to rest. “Just can’t sleep and I wanted someone to talk to to pass the time.”

“Not sleeping eh?” the warlock remarked. “Guess that makes two of us.”

“Well I’m sure that your restlessness hasn’t been caused by this.” Nabakov countered. A few seconds went by and Aaron’s keen hearing picked up a series of sounds that managed to get intercepted by the communicators sensitive speakers. They were rapid tock tocks followed by the occasional fum fum. It didn’t take long for him to realize just what those noises were. _Gunfire and explosions. Sound pretty far off._

“That going on over towards the west?” Divale queried.

“Yes, about a few dozen miles or so by what I can figure.” Tatiana responded. “They’ve been going at it for about an hour now.”

“Skirmish actions.” Aaron explained. “A simple tit for tat.”

“More like a nuisance.” the woman replied, frustration giving her voice a bite. “I’d kill for some piece and quiet right now. With so many people crammed in the city, it’s become a rare commodity.”

“Such is war.” the warlock said, shrugging his shoulders. “There’s no such thing as peace and quiet, just lulls in the fighting.”

“You must be experiencing one of those lulls right now huh?” Tatiana asked.

“Par for the course out in the middle of nowhere.” Aaron admitted. “It’s not like Europe where everywhere you look there’s something breaking the monotony. Nothing but sand and rolling dunes as far as the eye can see. That and the cold nights. Wind likes to pick up then. You find yourself outside and a gale comes along, you get pelted with millions of sand grains. Get into everything and everywhere, grinding against your skin like like a lathe does steel rods.”

“If you ever find yourself back up in Alexandria chetyre glaza (four eyes), I’ll make doubly sure that you won’t be cold and have your skin covered, inch by inch.” Nabakov insinuated seductively.

“Of that I’m sure.” Divale replied with a smile. He was about to say something else when a shadow fell over him, one that came from the curtained opening. _Well shit._ “But until then, I must be off. I have a long day tomorrow. Do yourself a favor and dream of me and when we meet again.”

“Then I wouldn’t wake up.” the Russian commented. “Goodnight Aaron. Be safe out there.”

“You too Tatiana. Goodnight.” Aaron finished, killing the link. He sighed and stated sarcastically as he looked up towards the door, “You have impeccable timing.” Standing at the curtained threshold was Hanna Rudel, wearing a white t-shirt that revealed her muscled stomach, a full three inches above her white panty line. The scars from her crash and surgery many years ago on the Eastern front were plainly visible, far whiter than her skin, a swirling whirlpool of pain from her ankle to the buttock. In either hand, she carried two steaming mugs, the vapor curling up and around her long waist length hair.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” the German witch observed, walking in and sitting down on her bedroll. “And hello to you too.” she added.

“Within reason.” Aaron concurred. “Please tell me you didn’t walk all the way back here like that.”

“So what if I did?” Rudel countered indifferently. “Like I said in England, the human body is nothing to be ashamed of.” She blew off the heat rising from the cups and handed one to Divale. He leaned forwards a fraction of an inch and saw that it was filled with a slightly frothy white liquid. “Warm camel’s milk. They have a stable full of them.” she explained. The warlock took his mug and Hanna drank heavily from hers. She smiled as the milk washed down her throat, hitting the spot in her stomach and spreading its warmth throughout her body.

“Wooo!” Aaron called out sharply, his face contorted and his eyes wide. He ran his tongue over his lips and smacked them repeatedly. “Now that’s very tangy and almost sour. It’s like I’m drinking borscht without the creme.”

“You’ll adjust.” Rudel stated, wiping the milk moustache from her face with the backside of left hand. She then stretched out her arms and sighed with relief as she reclined into her sleeping bag, lying on her side and facing him. “Speaking of which, now’s your head?”

“Okay for now, but I’m not looking forward to the next six days of pulling ballast duty.” Divale grimaced, bring cup back to lips for another swallow.

“It will be worth it when you get back to Alexandria,” Hanna commented, “especially considering what awaits you there.” The warlock gave her an inquisitive stare as he drank his camel’s milk, trying to pass off the age old ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ lie. The witch didn’t buy it for a second. “Don’t think I’m intruding or anything, but this Tatiana, is she Tatiana Nabakov? The star player we squared off against in that charity soccer match?” she asked.

“And kicked her ass, yes.” Aaron replied, grinning at the memory.

“Quite a strange place for a Russian soccer star to be wouldn’t you say?” Hanna inquired.

“The golden boot got the boot and the Germans were only to happy to scoop her up.” Divale illuminated. “They’re having her do some morale boosting for the troops.”

“Seems to me that she’s boosting more than just your morale.” Rudel jabbed. She cocked an eyebrow and the warlock immediately caught onto what she was about to ask.

“We’re not an item.” Aaron stated, shaking his head. “When I got here, she and I met up at where she was staying. Yes, I didn’t leave until the morning, but it was just your typical casual sex. Nothing much to it really. There was a need and that need got addressed.” _That and you were probably lonely and wanted someone to be there._

“There it is again.” the witch murmured, sitting back up and staring intently at Divale.

“There’s what?” the warlock queried, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Your eyes changed.” Hanna answered. “Me, Elizabeth, and Wilma have noticed it. When we were in England, they had this vitality, an enthusiastic happiness. Now, every so often, like just then or when you’re around Helga or Juliette, it all disappears and you look so sad and drained.” She looked back out towards the curtained door for a quick second. Seeing nothing amiss, Divale was about to say something more, but Rudel got really close to his face and whispered, “Does it have anything to do with what happened at Dover?”

Aaron held her stare as he raised his right hand, placed it on her left shoulder, and gently pushed her away from him. She did not resist and Divale responded, “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“You should tell someone.” Hanna advised. “It does no good bottling that all up.”

“There’s a strict gag order.” Divale replied firmly. “Even if there wasn’t I don’t want to talk about it, because frankly, I consider that chapter of my life closed and I don’t want to open it back up. I’ve moved on from it.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Rudel pointed out. “We need everyone in shape outside and inside. If there’s something festering in you, you have to get that taken care of. It could end up getting someone hurt or worse.”

“Why are you concerned about me?” Aaron demanded, getting annoyed.

Hann blinked once, twice, and replied, “Me being concerned? Aaron, we all are.”

“Lieutenant Divale?” the voice of Marseilles crackled over the communicator. “Do you hear me?”

 _Well now if this isn’t a one in a lifetime ‘Am I glad to see you’ moment._ “I read you loud and clear. What’s going on?” Aaron asked.

“General Montgomery wishes to speak with you on a private matter. I’m patching him through to you on our comms.” his superior informed.

That statement gave the warlock pause. “That makes no sense.” he said. “The British have their own. They shouldn’t need ours.”

“He said that he’ll explain everything when he talks to you. Stand by.” Marseilles remarked. The line soon filled with sharp pops that made Divale wince. Within a second, a garbled phrase began to materialize out from the ether.

“Do you read me Lieutenant Divale?” the voice of General Montgomery asked.

“That I do general and I’m still confused as to why.” Aaron replied.

“I don’t trust out communications.” the Brit bluntly explained. “Recent events have forced my hand into finding a definitive answer to this question.”

“Clarify.” Divale ventured.

“Before our journey south, I made sure to get my hands on the best communications array we had, top notch operators, and enough spare parts to where we could build another one if we had to. All of it was tested and worked perfectly, exactly how the manual says it should. However, lo and behold, not even one hundred miles into our march, the signal goes dead. No static, no ghost echoes, nothing at all. It was as if the rest of the Allied army disappeared.” Monty began.

“I can see why that would be disconcerting.” Aaron mentioned.

“Now wrap your brain around this development: We had an aetheric booster, fully charged and operational, and capable of projecting a signal over one thousand miles away regardless of weather conditions, and still we had no success at all in getting out or receiving a signal. Yet, strangely enough, we could easily get in contact with our units in the field within a fifty mile radius.” the general continued.

“If I were you,” Divale theorized out loud, “I would’ve been concerned that there had been some snakes in the grass that either damaged key components to that array or planted some sort of jammer.”

“As would I.” Montgomery agreed. “And I did. We did a bit of weeding and when we got to Dongola, I had my operators disassemble the machine and go over every single part, down to the bolt washers. Went through it with a fine toothed comb, tested every single part, and nothing amiss was found. Spooked the hell out us, but I went ahead and made the decision to keep trying to get in contact with Allied HQ in Cairo every hour on the hour for the past two months. Over 1,440 messages, all sent. And of those 1,440 messages, only one managed to get through.”

“The one where we got the go ahead to find you and bring you back.” Aaron deduced. “That is even more disconcerting but, what do you want me to do? If you guys didn’t find anything, what makes you think I can?”

“Your eyes are said to be one of if not the best in the squadron. Every time we pulled it apart, we always did so in the day. Since you have impeccable night vision, maybe, just maybe, the eyes of a warlock could find something that our mortal eyes overlooked.” Monty finished.

 _He might be onto something here._ “Alright general, you talked me into it. I’ll be out in three and will radio you on this frequency if I find anything. Divale out.” Aaron concluded. As he killed the link, he noticed Hanna starting to get up. “Sie wollen auf einem späten Abend toben durch die Wüste mit einem Hexenmeister gehen (You want to go out on a late night romp through the desert with a warlock)?” he asked.

“Nur wenn du nichts gegen einen Dämon an deiner Seite hast (Only if you don’t mind a demon by your side).” Rudel countered, downing the rest of her milk. “Und ich werde sogar für diesen Anlass gekleidet sein. (And I’ll even be dressed for the occasion).”

_Oh colonel, if you only knew how long I’ve been graced by that presence._

*********************

Patricia sunk deeper into the shadows as she double checked her way out, making sure that no random passerby’s would hinder her escape. _First rule you learn in basic: Never get into what you can’t get out of._ She smiled, the memories of that time some of the best she had and she absentmindedly rubbed her collar, though the oak leaf insignia had long been cast away. _But that was before I was illuminated, before I was given a new purpose. Instead of following, I’m leading, like I should be._ After taking another quick look, the American looped the strap of the now empty bag off over her shoulder, rolled it up good and tight, and stuck up against one of the many metal fuel drums that served as her hiding place. There were fifteen explosives in that sack, each one enhanced with magic and capable of coring out a Tiger tank, and Patricia had planted them all. Knowing that the main targets were officers, the major did her best to place each device in a way that would only take out them out, but also damage supply and material assets like tanks or artillery. The harsh chemical reek of gasoline didn’t affect the witch as waited patiently for Abigail to join her. _I made it perfectly clear to meet me here as it was the best spot to regroup and was fairly not well lit._

Suddenly, Patricia’s ears picked up a chirping cricket. To anyone else, the sound of a bug would be paid little mind, but to the American, it was a distinctive friendly hail. Reaching into her right breast pocket, she pulled out a hollow device, a long hollow brown tube made of plastic with the image of a cricket on the side. With just the thumb on her left hand, the major pushed down, making the mechanism inside elicit the same noise that she heard. Within a second, a dark figure hunched down and crawled through the main entrance, keeping low to the ground. “You got any water on you?” Abigail asked, her New York accent sounding much louder than it really was.

Patricia produced her canteen and offered it to the sergeant, at least that was what she assumed her previous rank was. The New Yorker snatched out of her hand, cracked it open, and took a good swig. Abigail sloshed it around in her mouth for a few seconds and spat it out onto the sand like it was mouthwash, raking her tongue across her teeth. “What’s the matter with you?” Patricia inquired.

Abigail closed the canteen and gave it back to her friend. “As I was placing the last bomb, I cast off the bag and made my merry way over here.” she began to explain. “About halfway, I smell pizza. Now, being a New Yorker, I’ve been spoiled to believe that pizza isn’t pizza unless it’s New York pizza, but it had been such a long time since I had a slice, I decided to take a detour and snag one. Wasn’t a legit pie, just an MRE copy, but I found it, broke off a piece, and shoved it all in.” She spat again, her face full of regret. “Patricia, it was so fucking awful, I would’ve shot the cook.”

“Support personnel are irrelevant.” the voice of Matilda boomed over their ear communicators. “Have the explosives been placed?”

“Yes indeed boss.” Abigail radioed back. “All set to go on your order.”

“Good. Where are you all now?” Matilda inquired.

“We’re both at the eastern edge of the fuel dump.” Patricia replied. “What about you?”

“I’ve infiltrated the underground. I need you both to make your way as close as you can to the main entrance before blowing the charges. I’ll meet you there.” Matilda commanded.

“That’s all swell, but we’re going to be marching headlong through a very narrow belt of darkness with a lot of activity going on around it. We could get spotted en route.” Abigail pointed out.

“I honestly hope you are.” Matilda stated. “I want them to see what’s coming. I want them to be afraid. Scared prey make for easy prey.”

*************

“The only time I take these Strikers off is when I’m about to go to bed.” Rudel countered when Aaron asked her why she put them on if it was just for a small walk to the comm array. “These belong on my feet at all times. No ifs, ands, or buts.” She looked over at Divale who was occasionally looking over his shoulder as if someone was following them and commented, “Kind of strange coming from someone who acts like they’re being watched.”

“I’ve always been like this.” the warlock retorted.

“Not in England you weren’t.” Hanna stated.

Aaron considered saying something else but thought better of it. _When she’s right, she’s right._ The conversation with General Montgomery played over and over in his head as the pair emerged out onto the battlements, the very top of the palace walls that overlooked the vast majority of the camp over forty feet below. It was like gazing upon a small hamlet that was getting ready for slumber, with fires being slowly extinguished one by one, plumes of smoke curling up into the night sky. It reminded him of the villages he used to hide out in when the old unit fought across France before it fell. _Back then they weren’t behind enemy lines and didn’t have to worry about compromised communications. Monty said that he rooted out the traitors, but I don’t know. He also said that he got the best comm array before departing and if that’s the case, there has to be a hell of a powerful jammer close by._ The northeastern most tower was coming closer and closer with every step their boots took on the worn stone paths. No lights were on inside, products of a strict operating schedule and lack of power. Thick cables hung down the tower walls like ivy before disappearing like anchor chains into the dark morass that was the ground level within the palace. The German witch got to the threshold of the door, the same curtained variety they had for their rooms, and opened it up courteously to allow Aaron to step through. He nodded in silent thanks and entered the tower proper. Looking around, it would’ve been back in the day an excellent defense point, holding dozens of soldiers. Now, the room was largely taken up by a monstrous radio that was big around as the door to his old room in Dover Castle. The antennae extended so high up that holes in the ceiling had to be knocked out just for them to get any signal. Jutting out at the oddest interval were so many dials, levels, buttons, and wires that it looked like a jungle gym for a troop of monkeys. Surrounding the mammoth technological beast were boxes upon boxes full of spare parts and tool box, the instruments covered with greased cloths. Despite the clutter, thin lines of moonlight seeped in through the arrow slits or the man made gaps in the ceiling.

Divale let out a low whistle as Hanna entered the room. “Fuck me.” he muttered, gingerly steeping around the obstacle course that was the radio. “The general did not exaggerate.”

“No, he most certainly did not.” Rudel agreed, making her way towards the tool box. “Then again, I personally don’t think the man would if he could if what I heard about him from Raisa was anything to go by.”

“You might want to take that testimony with a grain of salt colonel.” Aaron pointed out, giving the outside of the comm array a quick once over. “She isn’t exactly fond of him.”

Hanna simply shrugged as she grabbed the tool box and walked back over to the warlock. “So, top to bottom or bottom to top?” she asked.

“Well there’s no room to get up so-” Divale began and let hang as he rummaged through the tool box for a screwdriver. He quickly found one and knelt in front of the main access panel, locating the screws easily with his enhanced vision and removing them. Rudel found a small flashlight in the tool box and turned it on.

“You could be a mechanic after the war’s over.” she remarked.

“Not a chance in hell.” Aaron replied, dropping the last screw and washer on the stone floor into a tiny divot with the rest of them so they wouldn’t roll around. “I prefer working with people than constructs.” The job done, he placed the screwdriver off to the side and gently removed the access panel, a thin sheet of metal an eight inch wide. Suddenly, he stopped, the panel still tilted in front of him at an fifteen degree angle.

Hanna grew excited, yet furrowed her brow all the same. “What did you find?” she inquired, shining the light into the guts of the machine.

“Turn off the light and look where I’m looking.” Divale instructed in a low voice. Rudel did just so, cutting the power and looking over the warlock’s right shoulder. At first, her attention automatically went to the interior, sifting through the wire bundles, serial numbers for the parts, and the transistor plug plug inserts. Try as she might, she couldn’t find anything wrong. Then, Aaron gently adjusted the access panel, steering it towards the witch, yet maintaining the angle. It was then that a tiny pin prick of light that didn’t come from the moon or Aaron’s eyes materialized along the center edge line of the metal plate. Craning her neck and squinting, Hanna managed to glimpse a thread thin strip of crimson.

“Well that was easy.” Rudel stated, fairly impressed. “Couldn’t have been for them. Must have been adhered and then hammered down. Yet what would they use? The desert would melt any typical glue and there’s no way they’d weld it. It would be too obvious.”

“How ever they did it, they certainly accomplished what they wanted.” Divale expressed. “Unguis.” A lone talon emerged from the index finger of Aaron’s right hand and, with the care of a surgeon, he aligned it with the light and inserted the tip of the claw into the razor thin gap. Once he worked it in a fraction of a inch, he flicked his wrist, twisting it like a door knob. A tinny crack echoed throughout the tower and the once whole sheet of metal became two separate pieces. The back slid off and both he and Hanna beheld a red faceted gem the width of a piece of paper and the size of a quarter attached to the plate. Wasting no time, the warlock jabbed the exposed jammer with his talon, the object easily shattering into dozens of pieces. He ended the spell and made the call on his communicator. “Come in General Montgomery. Do you read me?”

“Copy that lieutenant. Did you find something? Where was it?” the general pressed.

“It was the access panel itself.” Divale explained. “Somehow they managed to make it a thick as a postage stamp and stick between two sixteenth inch metal plates and hammered them down. Extraordinary craftsmanship. Not even you operators would’ve known the difference. I have destroyed it entirely so you should not be having any more problems.”

“Did you ascertain whether it was capable of listening in on our transmissions?” Monty inquired.

“No, but I wouldn’t put it past them.” Aaron answered. “Wherever you and the 31st are in the palace, I’d advise that you all to relocate now. You’re not safe. We’ve been compromised. Get out n-” The end of his message was interrupted by a staggered series of massive explosions that caused him to stand up so fast that he near bowled Rudel over. However, the witch regained her balance and sprinted out the curtained door, Divale right on her heels. Outside, what had once been a calm collective encampment was now a raging inferno of chaos. Patches of fire rose up into the sky, the greedy flames igniting and engulfing tanks, supplies, tents, and men alike. Other detonations could be heard, the result of ammunition or fuel cooking off and adding to the blaze. Observing it all in stunned silence, Aaron made note of the locations and tried to establish a pattern while Hanna yelled out over the wall at the men below within the palace to check for damage and to establish contact with key personnel. _Son of a fucking bitch! The bastards followed us the whole damn time. Led them right to the British. What a fucking mess._

“Lieutenant Divale! Colonel Rudel! What is going on out there?!” Marseilles voice frantically demanded.

“Explosions ma’am.” the German witch deadpanned.

“I can clearly tell that!” her superior officer shot back, not happy with the response. “Are we under attack?!”

“Determining now.” Rudel responded as she looked out at the pandemonium, checking the perimeter of the camp, looking out for the tell tale signs of Neuroi beams or shell tracers admist the frantic movement of the rudely awakened British troops who tried to meander through to help put out the flames. Distress sirens came alive, their keening wail adding to the bedlam of smoke and fire. Then, another series of sounds rocked the night air, these much more subdued, but no less destructive, coming from the entrance to the underground passageways. _Gunfire and possible cannon. No vehicles so that must mean-_ “Confirmed enemy presence within the encampment. Enemy witch units assumed. They have engaged Allied forces at the underground passageway entrance.”

“Copy that. You and Lieutenant Divale are the only units we have up and running right now. Get over there and get me a sit rep pronto. Marseilles out.” Hanna ordered.

The colonel cut the link and activated her Strikers, the rotors whirring to life. Aaron unfurled his wings as he came up next to her. “Denken Sie, was ich denke (Thinking what I’m thinking)?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow.

Rudel looked at him and nodded. “Es wird heute Abend eine heiße Zeit in der Altstadt (It’s going to be a hot time in the old town tonight).” she uttered.

******************

Matilda almost felt like sighing, not out of fatigue or annoyance, but out of sheer disappointment. Her current quarry had thought himself slick, ducking behind a crate. _The first rule you learn is when you’re attacked, never assume you’re safe._ And this unfortunate British officer was about to discover the hard way, what happens when you forget your training. Placing a stone in the cloth sling, she whipped it around her head three times before letting the rock fly. As it left the sling, the round stone crackled with aetheric energy, the makeup of the rock nearly unable to contain the magic therein. It flew through the air and struck the crate dead center, causing it to blow up in a shower of wood splinters and smoke. Matilda stood there, waiting patiently for the fumes to settle. _Never turn your back on your prey unless it is good and dead._ Movement caught her eye and the British officer staggered out, his uniform and skin awash in cuts and puncture wounds. Everything from toothpicks to pencil thick sized pieces of wood jutted out, making him look more like a human porcupine. Two more sloppy footfalls later and he fell forwards dead, making a sickening wet smack on the stone floor of the passageway.

Confirming the kill, Matilda now turned her attention back to the entrance where Abigail and Patricia were engaged in a furious firefight with what remained of the original defending forces and their reinforcements at the crest. They both were tucked into a double wide line of sandbags, Patricia hanging further back, and seemed to be enjoying the whole thing judging by the smiles. Once and a while a stray round would slam into Abigail’s shields, but nothing could penetrate them. The Americans repaid the gesture with bullets and shells of their own, the casings rolling down the incline towards Matilda’s feet like brass skiers slaloming down a mountainside. Body after mutilated body laid all around her, each one a high ranking serviceman. Yet even though the body count was impressive, the witch was not enthused. In fact, if one could’ve read her mind, she would be closer to downhearted. _We caught them right where we wanted them, but we can’t kill them fast enough. If only we had more._

“Matilda! It’s Marilyn!” the witch who stayed behind cried out over her communicator. “Witch units from the palace are starting to circle the perimeter. It’s too hot here. I’m relocating to Exit Beta. Over and out.”

“You get that up there?!” Matilda yelled up at her hounds over the din of battle.

“Loud and clear boss!” Abigail roared back after letting another shell fly from her cannon. “We can hold more than long enough for her to get there! These guys ain’t nothing! They’re just melting like snow in summer!” A quick pause later as she quipped, “So Patricia, you remember that old ditty they taught us in basic!?”

“That I do!” Patricia answered, a grin on her face as she reloaded her Thompson. Then, like a chorus, she recited the old cadence in a sing song way. “Who’s come along to save your day? Oh my God, it’s the USA!”

“Damn straight!” Abigail called out. “Yet it looks like some people didn’t get the message!”

“What’s incoming?!” Matilda shouted.

“Few more squads with heavy weapons! No tanks!” Abigail reported dejectedly. “Such a shame.”

“Guess the limey’s don’t want us to bang up their precious vehicles huh Matilda!” Patricia bellowed.

Matilda rolled her eyes and shook her head from side to side slowly. _It’s not that at all you idiot! Trying to drive a tank through all this mess is just about impossible without adequate communication. We disrupted it for now, but they’ll be here, and in great numbers._ “If you can’t stay, fall back into the passages!” she instructed, hefting her spear as she turned to leave.

“Understo-” Abigail started to say, bit something caused her to stop mid phrase. “We got a witch incoming! Bearing one o clock high! She’s got to be 31st! No way those other squadrons have got here!”

That revelation made Matilda spin right back around and thrust her assegai into the air. She tilted it just so, angling the point so that it would act as a mirror, allowing her to see what her hounds saw. Despite the distance, she could plainly make out a witch, illuminated by the fires, flying hard and fast towards towards them. _Don’t recognize her. Typical Marseilles: Always sending someone else to do what she doesn’t want to. Looks like they finally got some new blood and some high ranking ones too. That’s a colonel right there. Very good experience, very valuable experience that we could use._ Matilda smiled as she felt her heartbeat quicken in anticipation of another hunt, one where she would bring back another prize for the mistress, and another mark of victory on her shield. Then, something else caught her eye. Just askew of the enemy witch was a set of lights that seemed to be moving rapidly from side to side. Squinting she tried to make out what it was. Then, those lights flashed brighter as they centered on something. _Just like a pair of eyes!_ Her breath caught in her throat as the eyes, for eyes they were, preceded the arrival of a massive man, angelic wings of shimmering silver beating the air, his face grim and intent on wrecking havoc.

“What the fuck is that thing?!” Patricia yelled, evidently seeing what Matilda noticed much earlier.

 _It’s him! We have no time!_ “Prepare to fall back!” Matilda barked, taking her own advice and racing down the passage into the main concourse. “That’s the warlock! Don’t let him get to you! He was designed to kill witches and reaped a horrible toll on us at Alexandria!”

“So we just run?!” Abigail shouted back, confused and angry at the same time.

“If you value your life, yes!” Matilda replied. “Split up and try to lose them! Don’t stop running!” She placed her right hand to her communicator and radioed Marilyn. “Get to Exit Beta ASAP! We need to leave yesterday!”

***************

“I spy two tangos at the entrance. Cannons and sub machine guns.” Aaron reported to Hanna, using his knowledge rather than magic. “Strange that they didn’t come with heavier guns or even greater numbers.”

“Never correct an enemy’s mistake.” Rudel retorted. “Let’s get down there and push them out.” She dove hard, making her way to the back of a nearby qubbas, Divale close behind. Sand kicked up as the Strikers got closer and closer to earthfall. As soon as she was around three feet or so up, the colonel killed the engines, landing somewhat hard, but within acceptable parameters. The warlock practically crash landed, tucking in his wings and barrel rolling forwards to his feet. “Schöne Trick fido (Nice trick fido).” Hanna commented, looking down on him. “Jetzt holen (Now fetch).”

 _Always a critic._ He looked around and saw much to his delight a semi open crate, the long tube of a PIAT visible in the firelight two dozen feet away tuck inside a tent. Suddenly an armored car, a Bren Carrier with six men and a Vickers machine gun in tow, raced through without a care in the world or even a courtesy beep. “Hey! I’m walking here!” Aaron shouted. One of the men whipped his head around and started making an obscene gesture. Whatever the final product would’ve been was terminated violently as the tracked vehicle exploded upon taking a 75mm round to the front, knocking back to whence it came. The sound of impact was deafening and pieces of metal followed by burning bodies tumbled around like lit coals escaping the confines of the fireplace. Quite a bit of debris landed right where he needed to go forcing Divale to grit his teeth and run through the flames.

A bright light and nothing of the world remains except fire. The wind is thick with smoke and heat, the fumes from the gasoline making an unseen head giddy in the near asphyxiating inferno. Flames lick exposed skin, causing blisters, triggering pain receptors. Residual warmth is felt in the booted feet, whatever adherent used to keep the soles on melting like cheese on a cooking pizza, making each step that much more off balanced and treacherous. A heart beats frantically, byproduct of limbs whirling about like a dervish, grabbing, wrenching, tossing, digging, snapping, and crushing all in the way, seeking something, anything resembling the objective. A long shape catches the eyes, ones that could easily blend in. Two blackened, sweat lathered arms reach down and pull.

Rudel’s eyes watered as the smoke stung them, the harsh chemicals making it hard to see. She felt the urge to cough, but kept it down. Then, as quickly as he had disappeared, Aaron reappeared, smacking aflame stray threads and lint clusters on his uniform with his left hand while tucked under his right arm were two fully loaded PIATs with an additional shell clutched firmly in his right hand. “Dieser gute Meister (This good enough master)?” he joked, walking briskly towards her. He turned his body just so as to allow Hanna to take one of the launchers. “We move in slow and low. Stay behind me at all times. Don’t peek out. A HEAT shell comes our way, that will be the end of you.” he instructed. Aaron unfurled his wings and aligned them in front, making an angled surface. Crouching low, he tucked the free floating PIAT munition close to his chest, making sure that the tip wouldn’t knock into anything and go off. “You ready?” he asked.

“After you.” Rudel offered.

********************

Patricia fired the remaining shots in her Thompson, peppering makeshift cover and bodies with .45 caliber rounds. It felt good, but her mind was elsewhere. _Where is that warlock. Need to watch out for him._ As if her words made him appear, a shiny surface glowed in the night, the flames making it look like molten bronze. The angel wings she beheld before were now like the tip of Matilda’s spear, the slant easily forty five degrees. Nothing of the warlock could be seen and he was advancing at the quick step. _Oh no you don’t. I’ve got something special just for you._ Reaching into her backpack, she rummaged around for a quick second before pulling out another cannon shell, a HEAT shell. Unlike conventional rounds which hit the target and continued to go straight through, this ammunition pierced the armor and later detonated upon breaching a few inches. _Have no clue what those wings are made of, but these babies can melt through six inches of armor._ Patricia rammed the round home and aimed carefully, watching the wings get close and closer with every second. _Don’t fire prematurely. Wait until you can’t possibly miss._ Another flunk sound made her realized that Abigail had seen the danger and loaded a shot of her own. Soon, the target took up the entirety of her gun sights and Patricia yelled, “Special delivery!” She pulled the trigger and the shell sped out at speeds that no human being would be able to dodge, not at this range. However, their target was far from human and far from naive. The moment the firing pin punctured the round, igniting the propellant, and sending the payload on its way, the wings altered shape, curving upwards like a scorpions tail. Two 75mm shells couldn’t find purchase on the surface and simply rode the curve, the angle deflecting them harmlessly back up into the air and over the entrance, far away from the intended receiver.

Jaws dropped, their owners brains unable to process what had just happened. They did however retain the ability to deduce. When the wings curved, Patricia noticed the glint of a long tub like instrument within the wings, one that she knew very well. “He’s got PIATs!” she screamed, lunging at Abigail who seemed oblivious. “We got to go! Now!”

“But the cannons-” Abigail protested, resisting mightily.

“Leave them! Leave them!” Patricia yelled, ignoring her friend’s pleas. She looped her arms around the witch, locked her hands, and with a monumental display of strength, wrenched the other American off her feet and together they tumbled down the incline into the passageways. A harsh flick was heard and moments later, explosions rocked the barricade, sending vitrified sand and scraps of canvas everywhere. The shock wave aided them in their journey, pushing them gracelessly faster over bodies, casings, and bric a brac, bruising flesh. Strikers ground against each other and over the stone floor, generating sparks and chipping off paint in chucks. Finally, gravity took pity of the enemy witches and the two came to a halt. A few seconds more to take a quick breath and rub sore limbs and faces would’ve been nice, but Patricia knew that the way was wide open and the warlock was not that far away. _And who knows who else was behind him taking shelter from our shots._ Grabbing Abigail, she hoisted her to her feet while doing the same for herself. “I know you aren’t feeling so hot right now, but we have to go! Run! We’ll lose them in the passages!” Her words seemed to spur her friend to action and the two began pumping their legs as fast as they could into the dark corridors.

“We should split up!” Abigail suggested, damn near panting. “Get them in a crossfire if we can!”

**************

Aaron pulled back the spring of one of the fired PIATs with two fingers on his left hand, no mean feat considering that the tension strength was over one hundred and thirty pounds, drawing flabbergasted looks from some of the surviving British soldiers. A click let his know that it was fully secure and he loaded the remaining shot in his other hand in carefully as the rounds had a bad reputation of being unreliable in desert conditions. Once that was done, he hefted the launcher, aimed, and fired the rocket through the hole they made through the ruined barricade at an elevated angle so that it would hit behind the defense line and maybe take out the witches into the bargain. _Not much of a hope, but it’s better than nothing._ “Kind of wished you deflected their shots back at them.” Hanna wistfully commented. “It probably would’ve ended the fight then and there.”

“It was my fault.” Aaron replied, conceding that fact and tossing the used launcher off to the side. “Underestimated when the shot would happen.” He then tuned into Marseilles frequency on his ear communicator and made his report. “Divale to Marseilles. Confirmed two witch tangos. They’ve been driven underground. I’m also noticing a lot of Allied activity going on at other locations. What’s going on? Over.”

“Montgomery is covering all exits with everything he’s got. No one’s getting out. We’re currently patrolling the perimeter, seeing if they have an egress point that we can shut down. Additional squadrons are due over our airspace in ten to fifteen minutes. Over.” Marseilles answered.

“Shall we link up with you?” Divale inquired, seeing little else to do.

“Negative.” his superior replied curtly. “I’m ordering you and Rudel into the underground to flush them out.”

Aaron’s eyes widened when he heard that. _Are you serious?_ “With due respect lieutenant, just because we confirmed two, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t more waiting for us in there. Just have the British collapse the whole damn thing. Going in is just going to get people killed.” the warlock reasoned.

Marseilles shot back, not caring a wit about the risks, “Rommel needs every man out here and we’ve lost a lot of them tonight due to the enemy. We can’t afford to lose anymore and you two are our best bets on making that happen. Find them Lieutenant Divale. That is a direct order. Marseilles out.”

As the link died on its own, the warlock threw his hands up in the air and looked up into the dark sky as if to say why me. Turning to Rudel he stated, “Don’t come with me Hanna. It’s too dangerous.”

The German witch picked up two functioning Sten guns and some loose magazines. “I’d like to see you stop me.” she replied calmly, stowing her finds away. “She did say that both of us were to go in there.”

Aaron took two heavy thumping steps toward the colonel and looked straight down at her. “I can stop you.” he emphasized. “And very easily might I add.” Rudel simply stared right back at him, her face betraying no emotion. A standoff ensued, neither side having any intention of backing down. However, someone had to give, and that someone was Divale, who shook his head and sighed sadly. “You have no shields woman.” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“And neither will you if they flank you.” Hanna pointed out.

“Alright,” the lieutenant acquiesced, “but you’re with me all the time. No going off on your own.” Suddenly, the squeal of grinding brakes made him turn and brighten up a bit. A transport just stopped twenty feet away from them and soldiers were hopping out faster than bilge rats on a sinking ship. _Might as well hedge some bets._ He spied a sergeant and strolled right up to him. “You there sergeant.” he called out. “How many men are under your command?”

“Including me we got fifteen lieutenant.” the soldier replied. “Three more squads are en route with anti armor support.”

“Good. You’re all coming with us. We have orders to go in and flush the enemy out. Meet up in front of the entrance pronto.” Aaron demanded.

“You heard the man lads!” the sergeant bellowed. “Squad F on me! Move out!” The whole troop swooped in behind Aaron who, along with Hanna, paced the flock.

“Imago calor.” Divale intoned. With his new sight, he could detect no enemy presence, the heat from the explosion all but gone. “Huddle up men.” he commanded and the soldiers did so. “Here’s the situation. We have two confirmed enemies inside, both witches. They are armed and extremely dangerous. To make matters worse, we have no idea if there are more just waiting to ambush us. Take a good hard look at me and the colonel. If you see anyone down there who doesn't look like us, shoot first and don’t bother with the questions.” Some of the men looked fearful and Aaron knew that he had to allay them. _Can’t have them go in scared or they’ll be next to useless._ “Let us pray gentlemen.” he said, getting on a knee. All copied the gesture, removing their helmets. “The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked advance against me to devour me, it is my enemies and my foes who will stumble and fall. Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then I will be confident. Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me. Your shepherd's rod and staff protect me. Amen.”

The men uttered the holy refrain as one and got back up, donning their helmets once more. “Now without further ado,” Hanna casually mentioned, “let’s get down to business.” Aaron nodded and led the way, crossing the broken and smoky threshold. The incline was the first thing he beheld, a gentle slope of thirty or so degrees. Knowing that, he could safely theorize that the ancients who built this city had used this as a storage facility or else there would’ve been steps. Further down, deep gouges could be seen along the far walls or the ground. _Which means that the two either slid or tumbled down hard. No blood either so that means they might be still alive._ Still beyond that, his vision also made him locate dozens of bodies amid spent shell casings, fist sized rocks that had been dislodged by some sort of massive explosion, dust, wooden debris from crates, and rickety scaffolding left behind by the dig teams. Squinting, Divale identified the primary cause of death and it wasn’t from bullets. _Those are deep cuts. Only possible with a heavy weapon like an axe or pole arm._ Flashlights clicked on and long beams of white light illuminated the near dark conditions of the interior. Gasps and murmurs resonated from the squad. Rudel for her part simply absorbed the scene without any emotion. She pointed to the dead below and remarked, “They didn’t have stabbing weapons. There might be another down here with them.”

 _So that makes three versus two and a half._ “Watch your step folks. Stay frosty.” With that, all began the tricky descent down the slope, taking care to no trip and fall from the odd casing that sank into a random divot.

While on the trip, the squad sergeant observed that the warlock had no weapon. “You enter knowing what you’re about to face unarmed?” he asked with concern.

To answer him, all Aaron did was execute a double bicep pose, the muscles in his arms barely contained by the uniform he wore. “I have all the firepower I need right here sergeant. Don’t worry about me.” he assured. That quelled any anxiety from the peanut gallery and the troop reached the bottom, sidestepping congealedblood pools, bodies, and parts of said bodies. More corpses littered the ground, acting like a trail of bread crumbs leading them deeper into the unknown. Turning to his German witch companion, Divale gestured to the casualties and stated, “They are mostly higher ups.”

“No doubt they used what they heard over the bugged comm array to determine who was what and where.” Hanna deduced grimly. “No better way to demoralize your foe than to decimate the leadership.” Soon, they all came to a large concourse with two additional paths splitting off the main track, one going left, and the other right. “They’ll easily double back around and flank us.” she noted.

Aaron was about to say something along the lines of agreement before two hard booms could be heard above them on the surface, the shock waves showering them with loose pebble sized rock. Looking up, the warlock had just enough time to see that some of the large stone blocks were cracking like eggs along the seams. “Cave in incoming! Move!” he screamed. Knowing that he had no time to determine who was running where, Divale did the only thing that came natural to him. Bending his right leg until his calf touched his thigh, he pushed off with his left and side rolled into the right hand passageway, into a collection of work benches, snapping the dry wood like twigs. He didn’t hear the sound of their demise at all, just the tumbling rumble of rock that couldn’t hold up anymore, striking the ground with the sound of ice cubes hitting a hardwood floor. Sand came soon after, the hiss one hears if one’s ear is close enough to an hourglass many many times louder, falling like grainy oil and splashing up into clouds. Though the downpour only lasted less than fifteen seconds, it felt more like minutes. As it lessened, the warlock took a look around and noticed that he was the only one on the right side. Panic sunk in immediately. Getting up and flinging off bits and pieces of wood planks and slabs, he radioed frantically, “Hanna! You alright! Can you hear me!”

“I hear you Aaron!” Rudel relayed back, making Divale sigh in relief. “Everyone else is okay too. Bit shook up, but okay. We can still get through the main concourse, but the middle is mostly blocked off, leaving on the left available. Where are you?”

“Looks like on the opposite side.” Aaron stated. “At the very least, they won’t be able to flank us from that side anytime soon.”

“Yes, and we’re also going to have to add, that in addition to being a poor judge of timing, you have much to be desired in your abilities as an artilleryman.” the witch replied. “I’m willing to bet my pay for the week that those explosions were due to those deflected shells.”

 _Ten to one they probably were._ “Sorry colonel,” Divale apologized, “but I flunked that part of the exam. Start mapping out the left, but don’t go too far in. Stay close. I’m going to try to find another way around.”

***************

Abigail laid down on the cool stone floor and crawled under a dining table, Thompson in hand. She had heard the rumble of some explosions earlier and did her best to ignore the possibility that they had caught up with and killed Patricia. _If they did, I ain’t leaving this place. I’ll fucking kill them all. Warlock be damned._ From what she could recall, the witch had passed through several rooms before finding this one, a large fairly cluttered area with old digging equipment, scaffolding, benches, and numerous columns, giving the place that stone jungle feel. A small fire was slowly dying in the center, providing some illumination, but not enough to telegraph her position. Taking another look out from underneath the piece of furniture, Abigail could make out the door, but not much beyond that. _Good. If I can’t see that trip wired grenade trap I set up, they can’t either._ As soon as she thought about it, heavy footfalls could be heard coming from far past the open space, echoing throughout the old room. She listened in and took a deep breath out of both expectation, and fear. _Just one set of them. It’s got to be him._ Taking a quick look over her left shoulder, there was just enough light emitted by the just about dead fire to highlight the carved door frame leading into the next room. _He trips the wire, grenade goes off. Say he somehow reacts fast enough, he’ll barrel on in and into my gun sights. Fire the clip and run like hell. Find another spot. Rinse and repeat._ Closer and closer and louder and louder the steps became and Abigail squared up and aimed dead center at the open door. _That’s right. Stumbled right fucking on in. I’ve got a surprise for you bitch._

Suddenly, the thumps of lead soled boots ceased, throwing off her concentration. That was quickly followed by a series of almost imperceptible and upsetting pops and cracks. “Well now, look at what we’ve got here.” a deep masculine voice remarked, one that seemed almost happy. Abigail’s eyes widened as she realized that somehow, someway, he’d found the trap. “Very kind of you my dear.” it went on. “Now this presents me with two great facts. First, I have a grenade. Secondly,” The voice paused as a harsh tic of a pin being pulled foretold was was going to happen next. The witch was already backing away by the time the warlock finished in a sing song tone, “I know where you are.” _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Where is that going to go?!_ Abigail’s head panned so quickly in all direction that it could’ve been mistaken for a gyroscope. She watched for any sign of movement as she scrambled out from under the table. That was when she saw it, the faintest glow of something gentling beginning to hit the ground. Instinct kicked in and the witch dove hard right and pushed herself off a column with the help from her Strikers, adding a boost to the hydraulics to get more lift and speed. The grenade went off as soon as her body managed to get behind a piece of broken column, shrapnel slicing thumb sized pieces of rock and the concussive force flew clouds of dust at hurricane force winds in all directions. She barely had enough time to get reoriented to where she could make a dash for the exit when the voice chirped, “Oh, silly me. I forgot these. Murus ignis.”

What had once been near perfect dark was suddenly illuminated by long lines of raging fire, crisscrossing around the columns like red rivers and blocking off the exit with a wall of flames that rose almost to the ceiling. _Oh fuck me._ “There you are!” the voice exclaimed, coming from her immediate left. Screaming, she let loose a full clip from her Thompson, but instead of a body, they plocked into and through a work bench, turning the thing into toothpicks. “De vi murum!” the voice called out again, this time to her right. Abigail had no time to react before she was lifted off her feet by a gust of wind that came out of nowhere, catapulting her almost into the far upper left hand corner of the room, crashing through a scaffold and landing hard. Shaking her head to get the pain out of her system, she quickly got back up and reached for another clip from her ammo belt only to discover to her horror that it was gone. Looking down, she frantically patted herself down, hoping that it was a mere trick of the flames or that it slipped down her waist, but it was gone, all gone. Over the sound of crackling flames, those damnable footsteps resumed. Peering out through a world of orange and red, Abigail finally beheld the warlock. His eyes glowed more fiercely than the magic spell he created and brandished something in both his hands. The witch recognized it instantly. _My ammo belt! But how?!_ With a flick of the wrists, the warlock twisted the bandolier like a sponge, the bullets falling from the ruptured clips like drops of water. Once he wrung out every last round, he casually tossed it aside and gave a polite bow. “And that is how Aaron Divale, the warlock, plays these sorts of games.”

Aaron then shifted over to a centralized location as to better intercept the short witch standing before him, but strangely enough, she refused to budge, prompting him to furrow his brow. “Yet this game right now makes no sense to me. Why did you not run further away and why aren’t you running now?”

Abigail eyes darted this way and that, looking for any possible escape routes that the warlock may have overlooked, but could see none. _Maybe if I can keep him talking, he’ll slip up and I can get out._ “Probably for the same reason you came alone.” she suggested. “You think you can take me down easily.”

“Partially,” Divale admitted, using his senses to see if he was being suckered into an ambush, “but it’s also to see if you can give me some information that I’m going to need. You see, I know there are more than two of you down here, so where is the third?”

“If you’re looking for a confession, you ain’t getting it padre.” Abigail defiantly replied.

“Don’t think for a moment that you’re special.” the warlock warned, flexing his right hand repeatedly. “I helped handle the best you all had to offer at Alexandria. Not even their five chevron could handle me.”

Those words jarred something in Abigail’s memory and she swallowed deep upon realizing what he was referring to. _He killed Furuko!_ “Oh you’re dead.” she muttered, shaking her head. “You and everyone else is so fucking dead when she finds out that you killed her best friend.”

“If I had a thousand dollars for every time someone said that to my face before I killed them, I wouldn’t have to take lives; I could simply buy them.” Aaron boasted. Noting the witch’s reaction, he added, “If there was any way that her life could’ve been spared, I would’ve done so.”

“Like hell you would’ve!” Abigail spat back. “I’ve heard the stories about what happens to those of us that fall into Allied hand! You can’t fool me!”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, even if it’s completely wrong.” Divale countered. “Just like I’m entitled to get what I need to know out of you.” He cracked his knuckles loudly and asked, “So are we going to be nice, or am I going to have to get naughty?”

Slowly, Abigail took off her black helmet, letting it drop to the ground with a slight thud. Then, she unbuttoned her uniform top and tossed it away, revealing a muscled physique covered by a green GI t-shirt that had a small breast pocket on the left. Two tattoos of the American flag could be seen, one on either side of the arms, etched into the meat of the bicep. “That answer your question?” she inquired, balling her hands into fists.

“Yes,” Aaron acknowledged, “and that I shouldn’t go to that four year old who did your ink. Piss poor symmetry. The lines are about as even as an odd number. How does it feel waking up and seeing a flag that you betrayed?”

Abigail’s eyes flashed and she started to inch forwards, hand up to guard her face. “You make fun of the stars and stripes one more time, you’ll be shitting your teeth.” she growled through gritted teeth.

Divale advanced as well, fingers moving like writing snakes, eyes trained on the witch. “As if you could even reach.” he mocked. Both combatants took two more steps and the first attack was soon launched by Abigail who enhanced the hydraulics with more of her magic, causing her to bolt forward at incredible speed. Just like at the entrance, Aaron knew that she would make the first move and, just like before, he drastically miscalculated the timing. As such, he was too slow to stop Abigail from getting into range, planting her left leg firmly down, and connecting with a hard right kick to the midsection. The blow sent the warlock into a nearby column, his back and head hitting the old stone hard. Thankfully, he judged the followup shot well, ducking low and away from a vicious right hook that gouged out a baseball sized chuck of rock that flew off into Lord knows where. Sensing the opportunity, he jabbed with his left towards the exposed arm pit, but the witch open palmed that away and reacted with a right knee that forced Divale to back up. _She’s fast and well trained, just like Gertrude. Need to regain control. She’s fighting for her survival so just let her fight or flight response exhaust herself._

Firmly in control of the momentum, Abigail continued to lash out with jabs and feints to disorient her opponent, but the warlock was content in playing the defensive game, parrying or sidestepping at odd angles, courtesy of his double jointedness. With a roar, the witch attempted a overhead left. Unfortunately, that cry telegraphed what she was about to do and Aaron took advantage by grabbing the wrist with his right hand and held it firm as he extended two fingers and poked hard at the nerve bundle in the left arm with his left. It struck true and Abigail grunted in pain. Divale felt the resistance in the arm give out and twisted around hard, throwing the witch into some scaffolding. Her body smashed through the old wood and metal structure as if it were made of glass and she laid there. He jumped up and prepared to drive his boot into her stomach, but the fall didn’t so much as daze the enemy who scissor flipped back up and backed away just as Aaron’s shoe flattened a wooden board into the thickness of a communion wafer. With so much loose debris, getting knocked off balance was a possibility, one that the witch desperately need to become reality, so she kicked out a few pieces of wood that Divale was standing on. The warlock did his best to lift up his feet in time, but he couldn’t get fully clear. Now helpless in the air, even for just a mere second, Abigail bull rushed into his exposed torso, spearing him with her right shoulder into the ground. Both landed hard, but she was the one who now had Aaron right where she wanted him. Blow after blow rained down on the warlock’s face and chest, splitting his lip and bruising his pectorals. Each shot felt like a jackhammer’s spike. Despite the beating, Divale brought his legs up and managed to bend them into an X in front of Abigail’s neck and then rocked forwards, flinging her away. The move also served as a front flip to a standing position. By the time he was on his feet again, the witch had managed to stop herself by grabbing onto a bench with some tool boxes on it. Noticing some chisels, she grabbed two and kicked the bench at him.

Aaron stopped that projectile cold with an overhead right chop, cracking the wood dead center, the two halves falling to either side of him. He took heed of the weapons in her hands and shuffled the debris away, clearing the field. Eyeing each other, the two jockeyed for position, yet kept barely out of their opponents reach. Divale licked his lips, tasting blood. “Apparently you can reach.” he commented. “You don’t need those. Come on. Let’s do this eu natural.”

“You wish.” Abigail replied coldly.

“Have it your way” Aaron retorted before suddenly unfurling his wings. As he did so, he angled them to reflect as much of the light caused by his spell as possible, hoping to blind her temporarily. He saw her wince as the glare made her avert her gaze and that was when he pounced, swinging his wings in a downward arc. If the witch didn’t have the presence of mind to relocate, she would’ve lost her head. A breeze doused some nearby flames, triggering spotting in the vision, but she knew where he was and that he had to have been dazzled as well. Taking a risk, Abigail turned and ran, the warlock right on her heels. Weaving like a surgeon’s stitch work, the two played a deadly game of cat and mouse, Divale swinging with reckless abandon and the witch pirouetting like a ballerina. The warlock knew what game she was playing and allowed himself to be led towards a column. _Go right ahead and fuck up bitch._ Abigail went to and started to wall run up the pillar to get him to over commit and flip behind him. However, she didn’t even get a few feet up before the angel wings came down flat on her shoulders, pushing her back down to earth. Aaron seized her arms and forced them forwards, the metal tips of the chisels embedding deeply into the stone. The one in her right hand broke in two and fell from her grasp, but the other merely snapped at an angle, the blade still mostly intact. Not giving up, the witch managed to overpower him drove her right elbow hard into Divale’s right side. That made him reassess options and swung her around, pinning her to the column with his right knee in her chest and sliding her left hand up over her head while making sure that she couldn’t kick him with her Strikers.

Then, Abigail let go of the chisel, letting it drop into her right hand. Aaron quickly realized his mistake and grabbed the hand, looping her back around and lifting her off her feet as he did so. Retracting his wings, he repeatedly kneed her in the kidneys. She screamed in agony and her strength waned in her arm. Not done yet, Divale slammed her back on the ground, crossed her arms and pulled up. The chisel, now along her left arm, dug into her skin, cutting off a piece of flesh a big as a deck of cards. Blood gushed out, the bone and pulsating brachial artery visible. He tossed the writhing body against the pillar, knocking the wind out of her. Stepping back, he located the human tissue and noticed that one of her flag tattoos was on it. Meanwhile, Abigail placed her right hand over her arm, trying to stem the flow of blood and catch her breath. Looking at the wound, she was partially relieved that the artery wasn’t severed. “You honestly shouldn’t have.” Aaron stated. She turned and saw the warlock with her skin, her tattooed skin, dangling it like a carrot in front of a horse. Then, he blew his nose into it, still warm crimson vitae oozing over his fingers and the corners of his face that touched it. One mighty sniffle later, he crumpled it up into a ball and threw it back in her face, the flesh feeling like a cooled slimy thin raw steak. “Thanks for the hanky Yankee.” Aaron finished, observing the witch closely. Abigail cast aside her lost art and, using the column as an aide, started to stand up. “Don’t be a hero.” Divale implored. “Stay down and start spilling the beans.”

Breathing in hard from the pain, the witch withdrew her palm and put up her fists, drops of blood dripping from her curved clenched fingers. “These colors don’t back down from a fight nor run! The only thing that’s going to be spilled is your guts!” Abigail shrieked.

************

“All clear colonel.” the British sergeant reported, panning his flashlight from right to left.

“Maintain perimeter and hold for further instructions.” Hanna replied, not even properly dismissing the officer and instead focusing on their new surroundings. Rudel didn’t know much about architecture, but even she knew that a cave in severely weakened the immediate site and anything else nearby through strain. Another one could be in the making and no one would know about it until it was right on top of them. Though Aaron had told her to stay in position, she had to make a judgment call in order to preserve the lives of the men around her. To that end, the German witch had ordered the squad to scout ahead, seeing if they could locate another space that they could hole up in. It was a great risk sending them out, but it had to be done. Thankfully, nothing bad came of it and they managed to find a room with only two points of entry, the one which they walked in from the concourse and one where they could walk out to parts unknown. It appeared to be a meeting room for there were a great many chairs, blackboards, file cabinets, and even a lectern. A power generator for a few light strips that hung from the ceiling by steel wires sat in the southern left corner with fuel to fire it up with. Hanna forbade them from starting it, instead opting to find spots where they could place their flashlights and light the occasional lantern. Before long, the room was illuminated with the odd assortment of sterile silver white beams that cast long shadows like poorly aimed stage lights, sharply contrasting with the lanterns more rounded yellow orange glow. Despite all the luminous sources, the high ceiling remained pitch black. The squad then had taken the liberty of arranging the area, forming improvised hard points and cover for forward observers and snipers in the back.

Suddenly, a loud thundering boom brought that work to a halt, every man looking around, pointing their weapons at the exits. “Good thing we left that spot eh lads?” one man quipped. “Would’ve got buried.”

 _That wasn’t a another cave in, that was a grenade._ Rudel punched in Aaron’s frequency and radioed, “Aaron! What’s going on?! Do you read me?! Over?” Nothing but static echoed in her ears. Getting concerned, she tried again. “Aaron?! Can you hear me?! Are you alright?! Over?!” This time, a few pops returned her questions, but not much else. “Sein Kommunikator ist in Ordnung, also warum zum Teufel antwortet er nicht (His communicator is fine so why the hell isn't he answering)?” she muttered under her breath.

“I don’t know what you said colonel, but I’m sure it wasn’t good.” the sergeant stated, doing his best to keep cool. Hanna was about to chastise the man for listening in on her until another sound, this one not from her ear communicator, made itself known. Quickly, she placed her right index finger to her face, indicating that she wanted absolute quiet. Straining her ears, Rudel tried to determine what it was. It was a low guttural rumble, like the kind you hear from a large predatory beast, yet it was layered. _Which means there might be more than one._

“That’s a bloody lion!” a man hissed.

“You’ve gone cracked at last you cunt. There are no lions in Africa this far north.” another retorted in a low voice.

“I’m telling the truth you daft bastard!” the original speaker countered. “Me and my dad used to go on safaris in South Africa. Big fuckers. Could rip a man in half with one swipe of their claws. I’ll never forget that sound.”

“Cut the chatter!” Hanna spat between gritted teeth. “Stay frosty and don’t stay in one spot. Move in all directions. Don’t be predicable.” Everyone took her sound advice and started shifting around, sighting and resighting their rifles. _We should be fine. Only logical places they came get in are the exits and we have the range._ Suddenly, a very loud thump followed by what could pass as ripping an orange in half, made all in the room turn just in time to see about half a human skull fly through the air and smack into a blackboard, painting the now cracked slate red. The body slumped over onto the floor, blood pouring out like a broken bottle of milk. One of the witnesses lost it, vomiting uncontrollably. Dust from above fell in streams and Rudel got a very sinking feeling, one that got even lower when a chorus of roars from on high reverberated throughout the room. “Above us! Above us!” she bellowed, pointing her Sten to the ceiling and hosing whatever was up there with lead. Soon, all the soldiers were firing at random spots, stray rounds and ricochets snapping wires, pulverizing rock, and shattering glass bulbs. The ground soon became littered with pebbles, glass shards, bits of plastic from the fixtures, shell casings, empty clips, and long tapered pinky finger thick steel wires that landed with a whip like crack on the stone.

Then came the screaming, the sort you hear when a man is finally confronted with his angel of death. Hard impacts of falling bodies caught the witches attention. Her eyes widened as she beheld two massive male lions, easily six feet long and three hundred pounds worth of raw muscle on top of two of her men, raking them with their razor sharp claws, pounding organs to pulp, and snapping bone. The British soldiers laid there helpless as their life was beaten out of them, blood ejecting from their mouths with every paw slap. Out of the corner of her eye, two more dropped from the ceiling, jaws open wide. What had started as a simple ranged fight quickly evolved into a close quarters melee between man and beast. One of the monstrosities noticed Hanna and charged right at her. With a calm that would make a Buddhist monk jealous, Rudel casually aimed and fired at the lion’s head. Round after round found purchase, shaving off a full ear, knocking out a few teeth, and putting out an eye, but the nine millimeter bullets did little except agitate the creature even more. Instead of blood splatter, a green light emanated from the wounds. _Summoning magic. No wonder I couldn’t contact Aaron. That power cancels out radio waves. She’s got to be close to use it though. But where?_ It leapt off its feet, roaring up a storm, but the witch still stood firm. Revving her right Striker she kicked out with the spinning rotor, the blades slicing into the neck of the beast as it pounced. The damage was too great for the aetheric construct to handle and it dissolved into a green mucus like goo that flew all over the witch, coating her from chest to calves. Ignoring the cold and clammy gunk, she ejected the clip and rammed another one home. While racking the slide, she assessed the situation.

Hanna quickly came to the conclusion that events were rapidly going into the enemy’s favor. Though one lion was slain, the remaining three were having their way with them. Four more bodies could be seen in various states of dismemberment and another man got his throat torn out after being pounced on. The remaining members of the squad kept on firing at the creatures. However, at such close ranges, the Lee Enfield’s that the soldiers carried were simply too bulky, didn’t have enough stopping power, and couldn’t be aimed fast enough. With uncanny agility, the big cats dodged or simply shrugged off the damage they were taking. A pattern of movement emerged. In addition to killing, the lions were displacing the flashlights and toppling the lanterns, creating kaleidoscopic chaos. One of the creatures split off from the others, trailing a soldier who was dripping blood from his chest, his service revolver clutched in his frightened hand, the rifle long since gone. Seeing a chair near her, Rudel took hold and threw it at the creature with all of her might. The lion saw it as it flew through the air and made a move to avoid it, but the two right legs of the seat got tangled up in it’s hind legs, causing it to lose its balance and footing. It tumbled end over end and slammed into a file cabinet, denting the metal a good six inches. With his pursuer helpless, the soldier whipped around and unloaded all six shots from his Webley revolver, fanning the hammer like a cowboy. All six perforated the exposed belly of the beast and found the heart, resulting in another kill for the defense.

Hanna weaved around a column and took a few pot shots from her Sten, trying to draw the attention of another lion. _Hopefully they can handle the last one because I’m running out of ammunition._ A clawed paw swung from around the stone pillar and she rolled backwards, the nails of the lion slicing through the stone like it was paper. Rounding the edge, it pivoted hard and opened its jaws, eager to sink its teeth into her flesh. Rudel had no intention of becoming cat food as she set her feet and jumped up, using the Strikers to gain extra lift. The beast became aware of what was happening and tried to stop or stretch its neck out to try to grab her as she vaulted, but it was too little too late. With the remaining shots in her clip, she sprayed the entire back and posterior of the beast, blowing out the spine and most of the muscle meat in the legs. Pulling up from her leap, she kicked up a bayoneted Lee Enfield, dropping the now empty Sten, and held it like a spear as she approached the creature. Roaring defiantly, the lion twisted around haphazardly, eyes glowing with hate, saliva dripping from its teeth. It swung out repeatedly with its paws, but Hanna batted them away. It wasn’t long before she found the opening and plunged the blade into the mouth and out the back of the throat, giving it a twist. It convulsed only once before dying, melting like butter in the sun.

Hard bangs from a revolver caused her to look near the center of the room where the sergeant, the last man standing, was squaring off against the last lion. Only a broken bayonet and a flimsy chair were all that stood between the creature and him. Rudel shouldered her last Sten, the last magazine ready to go, aimed for the head and fired a quick three round burst. The shots drilled into the big cat’s head, dazing it for a few seconds. Those few seconds were all that the man needed as he sidestepped to the left and stabbed the thing through the ear. It dropped in an instant and so did he, collapsing from exhaustion into the muck. She ran over to him and knelt. “You alright sergeant?” Hanna asked, looking him over for injuries. Besides a few scratches on his face and arms and panting heavily from exertion, he was generally fine.

“A quick two and I’ll be back up.” he answered. “Not a bad spot of work if I’d say so myself.”

Rudel was about to comment on that until she saw a faint shadow fall over them. Without hesitation, she rose up and tried to aim her Sten, but it was too late. Sub machine gun fire from the exit leading deeper into the passageways riddled the tired sergeant, His life was over by the time the first shot struck him in the chest, right over the heart. The extra four were plain overkill. Three more projectiles whizzed around the witch. One skimmed past her left Striker, deflecting off the metal and into another dead body, another barely missed her right armpit, while the last slammed into her gun, knocking it out her hands. One thought ran through Hanna’s mind as all this happened. _She wants me alive. If she didn’t, I’d be dead by now._ Regardless, she ducked behind a stone column and looked around for a weapon. Finding none, she took a chance and peeked. Standing at the threshold was a witch roughly her height holding a Thompson, smoke drifting out the barrel. She couldn’t see much else of her due to the weird lighting angles from the scattered flashlights and shadows.

“A witch with no shields.” Patricia marveled, casting her weapon away with a clatter. “And all this time, I thought they retired people like you.” She then waved her left hand at the puddles of ichor. The liquid started to elongate like taffy in a puller machine, bubbling as it did so. Hanna felt her blouse tingle as the slime that had showered upon her earlier started to drip down to the stone floor, inching towards its master like a worm. “I can feel your heart beating from here colonel.” Patricia remarked, smiling as the remains of her creations made their way back to her. “Cherish that feeling, because by the time we’re done with you, you won’t need it.”

It was then that Hanna realized that she had no choice but to fight the witch. _She’s gathering up her power again. I can’t let that happen or else it will be six against one._ She breathed in deep and charged right at her, her Strikers churning up dust. The other witch apparently had the same idea and ran towards her as well, hands raised. Rudel closed the distance and popped up, delivering kicks from her legs. Patricia batted them away and countered with a blow of her own against the inside of the Hanna’s left leg. The hit brought her down to her knee hard and she just had enough time to block a followup right hook that would’ve connected with her temple. However, Patricia left her midsection unprotected and Hanna jabbed out with her left, palm open, aiming for the diaphragm. It got blocked by the enemy’s right knee, the leg extending out faster than a jack in the box. Rudel avoided the kick, grabbed the leg, and threw the witch over her shoulder. Not done, she activated her right Striker and executed an overhead spinning heel kick, hoping to catch her with the rotors. Patricia knew what was going on and forward rolled out of the way, feeling the wind beating hard on her back as she avoided the blades by less than an inch. She spun around and kicked a chair at Hanna as she backtracked. She knocked it away with her left leg and rushed at her, throwing hooks and jabs all the while. One of those shots hit, right on the left cheek, and Patricia rode the momentum of the blow, delivering a vicious headbutt that knocked Rudel back. Not wanting to cede momentum, Patricia went on the offensive, teeing off on her German opponent. The American kept up a blistering fast fusillade of upper and lower body shots that seemed to hit everywhere at once. Hanna could barely block them all and tried to back away, trying desperately to generate separation. The enemy witch would have none of it, cornering her against a work bench and forcibly moving both Rudel and the piece of furniture back against the wall swing after brutal swing.

Suddenly, Hanna jumped up onto the top of the bench, kicking some of the tool boxes on it. That got the beat down to stop temporarily, but Patricia kicked the side of the furniture, causing it to crack and vault her up against a pillar. A steel wire dislodged from the shootout earlier hung loose and Hanna reached out and grabbed it. It took her weight and she swung around the column, making her look like a child with a streamer in hand skipping around a May pole. It caught Patricia unawares and Rudel kicked out with both her legs at her chest, knocking her flat on her back. The German landed hard on top of her and the two struggled to gain an advantage, tossing and turning until they came up against a file cabinet. Managing to pin her arms down with one of her own, Hanna reached out and grabbed a rifle, looping her fingers around the strap. It was out of ammo, but she quickly got her other hand on it and pressed it down hard, intending to choke the life out Patricia. The strain was overwhelming the American who had next to no room to escape. That’s when she realized that the file cabinet she was up against had spring loaded drawers that would open outwards if you hit a little button on the front. She located one with her peripheral vision and slammed the right side of her head into the lower part of the drawer, skimming the handle. Rudel’s saw stars after taking a steel handle to the left temple and it caused her to lose control. Patricia then slammed the butt of the rifle into Hanna’s face, making her roll off of her.

Taking it with both hands, the enemy witch swung the gun like a baseball bat upon bouncing back up, but the colonel managed to duck away. Patricia then thrust it at her like a spear, but Hanna grabbed the barrel with her right hand, pirouette closer, and drive an elbow into the witch’s back, making her drop the gun. Letting go, Rudel grabbed the sides of the uniform and pulled it up and over the American’s head. Quickly doing a rudimentary knot, she held her opponent firmly in place as Hanna rained hit after unblocked hit into the skull. Once, twice, three times before adrenaline kicked in, giving Patricia the strength required to rip her uniform top into. By that time, Rudel had swung her long hair in her left hand, the black bow hurtling towards the face.

Apart from two other individuals, no one knew that the bow that Hanna used to tie her hair with had a lead weight in it so that it would keep her hair from blowing into her face during dogfights. It wasn’t heavy, probably two ounces at best, but when applied correctly in a fight like this one, the results were devastating. The German smiled as the bow smacked into the side of her opponent’s skull, giving the American a nasty cut over the left eye. Looking for the knockout, Hanna stepped to the side and gave a thunderous right uppercut into the jaw. She didn’t get it flush, but it was enough to send her enemy to the stone floor, groaning in pain. A Webley revolver lay close by, one that was loaded with three shots. Rudel snatched it up, cocked the hammer, and was about to fire before Patricia slammed her right hand into her breast pocket. Suddenly, a purple aura surround the downed American and just as Hanna pulled the trigger, she winked out of existence, the .380 caliber round going straight into the floor, leaving behind nothing but a small bullet sized crater and a puff of dust. Stepping away, Hanna cocked the handgun again and noticed that the puddles of aetheric ooze had vanished as well. Though she was tired, the colonel refused to rest, knowing that there could still be another witch waiting to pounce. Then, her ears picked up a strange sound coming from where the enemy witch had previously entered. _That’s a shout. A very angry manly shout._

****************

Abigail came out of her corner with the speed of a featherweight boxer and struck Aaron dead in the face with the power of a sledgehammer. Over the sounds of his own nose breaking, he heard some more sounds which, on the plus side, weren’t the snapping of bone. They were in fact much worse. _Gunshots. Lots of them. Hanna might be in trouble. I’ve got to wrap this up._ He allowed himself to rock back on his heels before thrusting both his arms out, going for a double punch to the chest. The witch seemed to know what was about to happen and, with a most surprising vertical leap, front flipped up onto his shoulders, clamping down with her legs around his skull. A twist of the waist later and both warlock and witch found themselves on the floor, Abigail firmly holding Divale’s fists at bay while crushing the life out of him. “Must be nice,” she quipped while tightening her choke hold like a boa constrictor, “knowing that you’re about to die between the legs of a woman. Every man’s fantasy I heard.” While his hands were out of the picture, the warlock still had full use of his legs. Using his double jointedness to his advantage, he kicked from a lying down position like a punter in football. The toe of his right foot knocked right behind Abigail’s head, the force of the blow sending her off of him and to the floor some five feet away.

Rolling back up to his feet, blood streaming down from his nose and curling slightly underneath the chin, he shot back, “I’d prefer my funeral bouquet to smell like roses, not trout thank you.” The witch got back up, her left arm a shade of copper from the dried blood, and pounced again, throwing a right hook. Aaron made a move to block it, but realized to late that that was a feint, and Abigail sent a ruthless left hook into his liver. An average man taking a shot there would normally collapse, but Divale bit his teeth hard, willing the pain away. The massive wall of fire still burning around the combatants started to diminish, flickering as if it were this close from dying completely. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the witch had made a crucial mistake. _She’s flatfooted now._ He quickly did a split and tried again with the double punch, only this time aiming right at the knees with all his might. His knuckles struck the metal shell of the Strikers and bent it and bent it until something gave not once, but twice. Further and further his arm extended as Abigail’s legs pushed out more and more until they resembled a goat’s rather than a human being’s. The snapping of sinew within told Aaron that her major ligaments were destroyed. And that was when the screaming started, a wail so high pitched that he was convinced that no note existed that could replicate it.

With the use of her legs gone, the witch limply fell into his arms and he threw her to the ground and pinned her down, his right elbow jabbing into the breast pocket. That was when he felt something small on the tip of his elbow, but before he could retract it and investigate, whatever was in the pocket gave with a tiny crack. In an instant, the still shrieking Abigail became bathed in a purple light for just a moment and then was gone. Aaron tried to get up, but the pain of taking that liver blow reared its ugly head and he fell backwards, clutching his stomach in agony. _That spell_ _Traicio_ _, I’ve seen it before back in France with Mio._ “Aaron!” a voice shouted. He craned his neck just in time to see Hanna vault over some low lying flames with a cocked Webley in her hands, checking her corners as she quickly advanced towards him.

“Howdy colonel.” Divale wheezed as he smiled. He noticed some bruising on the side of her head and noted, “Guess you met one huh?”

“Yes.” Rudel admitted, kneeling down beside him and giving him a once over. There was some bruising and a few cuts all over his face, but they were rapidly fading away. “She disappeared before I could kill her. Some sort of spell made her vanish.”

“Same here.” the warlock stated. “They’re long gone now. No way to figure out where they went.” He offered his left hand and asked, “You mind?” The witch holstered her revolver and took hold of his hand and arm. Aaron winced as the tender organ grazed his comrade’s side, breathing in hard.

Hanna set him down on a toppled piece of pillar and let him catch a break. “Got you in the liver didn’t she?” she inquired, gesturing to his midsection. When he nodded in the affirmative, she crossed her arms over her chest and pressed, “Now why would you let her do something like that?”

Divale shrugged and replied, “Maybe I’m more of a lover and not a fighter.” Looking around, he saw no further movement past where she came in and his heart started to sink as he asked, “No one else made it did they?” Rudel nodded and Aaron sighed. “And there’s still one more out here.” he acknowledged.

“That one we can save for the British.” the witch pointed out. “I radioed Churchill who then got me in contact with Montgomery. He’s sending in search and destroy teams in the next minute or so. Heavy weapons, flamethrowers, the whole nine.”

“Then it’s probably a good idea that we clear out of here before they arrive.” Divale suggested, testing to see if he could get up under his own power. He found out he could and had Hanna lead the way. “Haben Sie also unseren kleinen Spaziergang genossen (So did you enjoy our little walk)?”

“War nicht so schlecht (Wasn’t too bad).” Rudel admitted. “Lassen Sie uns dies noch einmal einige Zeit tun (Let’s do this again some time).”

*****************

Patricia voiced her displeasure with a raspy breath as Marilyn secured the bandage around her head, the gauze over her cut sinking into tender flesh, making her mood that much worse. When she rematerialized from her aetheric travels on the far edge of a hill leading south, both Matilda and Marilyn had been there for a few minutes, making sure that they came back. The night was cold and the bugs were out and about. They attacked her face and hands mercilessly, and smacking them made her bruises hurt even more. “What do you want me to do,” her doctor queried, holding up her hands, “get you a fucking lollipop?”

“There’s no need for that language.” Matilda firmly interrupted, ending the impending verbal blow back.

“Kind of wish you were still in there.” Patricia lamented, getting up and rubbing her sore chest. “Not saying I blame you or anything.” she hastily added, no wishing to make the right hand of the mistress angry. “I understand why you bugged out. I’m just saying.”

Matilda sympathized with a slight nod. _I wish I could’ve been there too, but when Marilyn told me what that the British were going to come in in force, I had no choice. Too dangerous._ “How much longer before those reinforcements get her from Dongola?” she asked Marilyn.

“About two minutes. Not much more.” the witch answered after consulting her watch.

Hefting her spear, Matilda saw that Patricia was growing nervous. _The two had know each other since basic training I believe. Very close._ “She knows exactly when they’re going to arrive and that we can’t wait forever. I’ll give her one more minute, but if Abigail isn’t here by then, we have to leave without her.” she stated. It was then that a purple light manifested right next to the American. Her heart leapt for joy as she knew that her friend was alive and they were all going to go home. She expected Abigail to tell her how much fun it was lighting up the camp and gunning down scores of those British bastards, but when her companion finally reentered reality, all she and everyone else heard was a raw agonizing scream from a throat so hoarse that it sounded more animal that human. She was lying down on the ground, arms rigid by her side and fingernails digging into the earth with gusto. Her face was contorted, a teary permanent strained stretching caused by gritted teeth and the sinews in her neck bulging outwards like the flanges of a mace. The breathing was short and hurried, like she was suffering from pneumonia. It shocked the living hell out of Patricia who backed away as if Abigail was some sort of threat, even more so when she discovered exactly why her friend was yelling so.

It was the legs. Instead of being straight, they were twisted and splayed out at angles that shouldn’t be possible. Blood seeped through cracks in the metal around the knee, mixing with oil and hydraulic fluids. Around the cuffs, the highest points of the machines, the entirety of the skin was black, blue, and purple, and it was slowly moving up into her pelvis. Somehow, someway, Marilyn sprung into action, whipping out a pair of morphine syringes, tiny one cc doses, and called out over the caterwauling, “Don’t fucking stand there! Help me hold her down!” Patricia blinked away the daze and rushed in, grabbing Abigail’s arms and firmly keeping them in place as Marilyn searched for a vein. “Keep her steady and for God’s sake, shut her up! We’ll get found out!” the medic hissed. Doing as she commanded, Patricia placed her right hand over Abigail’s mouth, the fingers having a hard time staying on due to the sheer force of her friend’s breathing. It was like putting her palm over a pressure hose. Marilyn found what she was looking for and jabbed in the first dose, following it up with the second moments later. Several heartbeats went by and Abigail’s breathing slowed as the effects of the potent painkiller took hold.

“What happened to you?” Patricia inquired, taking her hand off of Abigail’s mouth so she could answer her.

“It’s obvious what happened.” Matilda pointed out, walking towards them with the butt end of the assegai tamping the ground like a walking stick. Seeing her approach, Marilyn backed away, her job done. “I told you to stay away from him. I explicitly said to get out if you couldn’t get away.”

“Patricia was in the other room near me.” Abigail explained, doing her best to calm down. “If I moved any more, we would’ve been caught in a pincer. I had no choice but to stand my ground.” Tears flowed down the sides of her face and Patricia cradled her neck, allowing her to look Matilda in the eyes. “I had him Matilda! I had him dead to rights!” she sobbed.

“Up til the moment you didn’t.” Matilda coldly replied, kneeling down beside her. “And look where it got you.” She turned to Marilyn and ordered, “Prepare to get us out of here. Set the charge to take three.”

Patricia’s eyes widened and she gritted her teeth in shocked rage. _She can’t possibly do this! She’s my friend!_ “No Matilda!” she barked, drawing a stern look from her counterpart. “You’re not leaving her here! She’s coming with us whether you like it or not!”

“I can and will leave her here Patricia.” Matilda countered without a hint of emotion. “Abigail’s a lost cause now. Even you have to admit it.”

“How fucking dare-” Patricia retorted, but a strained grunt from Abigail stopped her from biting Matilda’s head off.

“She’s right Patricia.” Abigail sadly acknowledged, looking her fellow American in the eyes. “Look at me. My knees are shattered, those Striker fluids leaking all over my skin and getting into my bloodstream are damaging my nerves, pieces of metal inside my legs, and my ACL’s, PCL’s, and MCL’s have snapped. Surprised I haven’t gone into shock yet. My career is over. I wouldn’t even be useful a paper pusher. Leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” Patricia reiterated. “I’m not going to leave you here to suffer.”

“She won’t.” Matilda assured, rubbing her fingers along the shaft of her spear.

The American caught what she was referring to and started to cry. Abigail placed her right hand on her shoulder and said softly, “I’ll be fine Patricia. Let me go.”

Patricia sniffed back the tears for a moment and touched Abigail’s forehead with her own. Not a word was spoken between the two. Several seconds ticked by and Patricia laid her friend’s head back down on the ground softly as she got up and walked away to Marilyn. Matilda didn’t watch her leave, instead focusing on the task she had to through with. Slowly, she inverted the assegai, twirling it in her right hand until the head rested a few inches above Abigail’s heart. Suddenly, the soon to be dead witch stated, “He killed her Matilda. That warlock killed Kitano Furuko at Alexandria, he admitted it. I knew you two were close and I figured you deserved to know. Do me a favor and kill that bastard for me.”

Matilda processed this information stoically, only thanking the messenger with a nod. That was when she thrust the assegai down. As the tip of the blade pierced cloth, flesh, bone, and organ, her thoughts were ones of sadness revenge. _That’s two lives you’ve ended warlock. I will keep that promise to you Abigail. He will die by my hand. He and his friends will never know peace for as long as I live._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anomaly presents itself in the besieged city of El Alamein, prompting General Rommel to task the 31st JFS to investigate. Aaron is roped into the mission alongside Helga and together the two discover not just the truth within the enemy stronghold, but within themselves as well.

**_ **Chapter X: Suffocated** _ **

_Don’t even begin to say that you’ll accept the truth. Many have made that statement before and none have ever done so. Why? You see, humanity was never meant to know truth. Yes we demand it, aspire to it, and search for it constantly, like it was some sort of obsession, but when we finally confront it, we push it away, saying that it’s a lie and run away. Ha! It’s only seen as such when it doesn’t conform to your version of it. And how do I know this you ask? Simple: You’re looking at a man who’s been running away from that truth for a long long time._

Diary Entry February 9th 1944

The explosion was massive, engulfing the front of the pillbox with smoke and flames. Helga watched this from the crest of a small rise several hundred feet off to the right, bits of pebble sized debris plicking off ruined masonry. Behind her, the mortar team awaited news, hopefully the good kind, standing by with another 80mm shell. _Come on you bitch, crack for us. Crack wide open so we can take you off the board._ The fortification, one built along the same vein as one of the Lozengevarieties, was one of the last ones blocking the way deeper into El Alamein proper on the southeastern edge. However, most of the anti-bunker artillery and mortars had been earmarked for the more heavily defended northeast, leaving many squads, Helga’s included, little in the way to deal with them besides using grenades and the occasional panzerfaust they pried from cold dead hands. Friendly units also sent airstrikes their way, but the enemy countered with anti air, causing many casualties. To that end, Von Kreiger and her fire team team had been slugging it out, street by street, block by block, and room to room for the past six hours clearing out spider holes, artillery pits, bunkers, and this pain in the ass pillbox that simply refused to die. For the past two minutes, they’d been pummeling the concrete defense work to great effect, but the enemy kept on firing on other nearby squads struggling to move through tons of rubble with no sign of slowing down.

The wind picked up again, a howling gale called a sirocco, very uncommon for this time of year, whisking away the smoke cloud in an instant. It was so strong that parts of Helga’s cover started to go with it, flying through the wind and smacking into whatever was in front of them. Squinting her eyes, she fished out some protective goggles from her right pocket and pulled up the neck scarf with her left. After making sure they were adjusted well, she grabbed her rifle and was about to look over the crest lip once more when she felt a series of taps on her left shoulder. Von Kreiger turned and saw one of her men, a Private Rothweg, motion for her to come closer. She leaned in and asked, “Was ist los (What’s wrong)?”

“Command sagt, dass wir in den nächsten sechs Minuten Fehler machen müssen (Command says we need to bug out in the next six minutes).” Rothweg reported, being as loud and clear as he could be over the wind. “Dieser Sandsturm wird noch schlimmer werden und wird nicht bis 0500 morgen früh nachlassen (This sandstorm is going to get even worse and won’t let up until 0500 tomorrow morning).” He took a quick peek over the rise and put on a hopeful face. “Sieht so aus, als hätten wir eine Öffnung (Looks like we have an opening)!” he exclaimed.

Relieved, Helga took a gander herself and saw to her delight that over the left most slit, slightly askew from the roof was a hole about the size of a milk pail. “Das tun wir (That we do)” she concurred with grin. “Bereiten Sie einen weiteren Schuss vor. Überqueren Sie zwei Grad rechts und halten Sie die Höhe gleich (Prep another shot. Traverse two degrees right and keep the elevation the same).”

“Sie denken, dass wir das treffen können (You think we can hit that)?” Rothweg asked, apparently skeptical of the mortar’s accuracy.

Von Kreiger shimmied away from the crest and positioned herself inside a small makeshift grenade trench, pointing her rifle up into the air. “Mit ein wenig Hilfe und Einfall, können Sie verdammt in der Nähe von allem mit denen schlagen. Schicken Sie es auf meine Marke weg (With a little help and ingenuity, you can hit damn near anything with those. Send it away on my mark).” she stated with confidence. Rothweg immediately started shouting orders to the mortar team and Helga doubled checked to make sure that there was a round in the chamber. The shine of brass told her what she needed to know and she closed the slide. _Going to be a bit of risk though. If I miss, we’re going to have to run really fast._

“In position!” Rothweg shouted.

“Auf meinem Stempel (On my mark),” Von Kreiger bellowed, “Drei, zwei, eins, Feuer (Three, two, one, fire)!” Though it should’ve been impossible to discern from the racket going on, she could plainly hear the seven pound shell make that distinctive barely there metallic grind slide down the length of the nearly four foot long smooth bored barrel. Her finger had already squeezed the trigger by the time the it struck the firing pin and rocketed out with a hard thum. What happened next occurred so fast that no eye could figure out what happened. What could be cited as a given, and thus a successful execution of the plan, didn’t manifest itself for a good three seconds until one of the men spotted the stabilizer fins from the mortar shell falling back down to earth like some sort of gray hailstone. By that time, Helga already rolled out of the trench and everyone was looking at the sky, trying to locate the shell. She found it first, the explosive tumbling end over end like a throwing ax, yet still flying straight and true towards the opening made by the previous shot. _Come on, come, come on! You can do it! Get there! Get there!_ It was a one in million shot, and this was that one. Improbable, unlikely, remote, and distant as it seemed, the stricken round sank into and through the hole in the concrete and detonated, wiping out the pillbox with a violent outburst of flame, shrapnel, and blocks of man made rock.

“Direkter Treffer (Direct hit)!” Helga remarked. “Gute Schießen Deer Männer! Nun lassen Sie uns den Fick hier rausholen (Good shooting men! Now let’s get the fuck out of here)!” The men didn’t need any more prompting than that, vacating their position so fast that they looked like blurs. Rothweg vaulted over the depression where the mortar lay abandoned, its purpose nor longer needed while Von Kreiger followed them, checking her six for pursuers. Down and down the slope they ran until they halted near the entrance to a bombed out building, pieces of the exposed wooden timbers still smoldering from the blast. Two of the men went up to the threshold, securing the point and checking corners. The rest lined up, ready to breach in force should it be occupied by some unwelcome guests. The man on the left gave the all clear and led his team in first, the second on their heels once they verified that they weren’t being followed. It gave them some shelter from the wind, allowing Helga to pull down her scarf and radio HQ. “This is Private Von Kreiger of the 31st JFS reporting that Delta Tango is off the board. Repeat, this is Private Von Kreiger of the 31st JFS reporting that Delta Tango is off the board. Over.” she stated into her ear communicator.

“Private Von Kreiger, this is HQ. We have hard copy. Relaying information to command. Good job. ETA on RTB? Over.” the radioman on the other end relayed.

“RTB ETA two minutes. Will emerge at entrance point Gamma three. Over.” Helga estimated.

“Roger that. Ankh crews will be standing by. HQ out.” the operator replied. The link went dead and the German noticed that some of her men were frantically kicking away a small mountains worth of sand, a collection of granules all but separating them from the safety of the rear. She hurried over and lent a hand, or rather boot in this case, moving away enough sand to to make her own beach somewhere. After a few more blows, they could finally see a steel handle staring right back up at them from the ground, one connected to a door that led into a underground tunnel network that ran throughout most of the eastern parts of the city. Clearing it out took the better part of half a day and even then, some of the passages hadn’t been completely flushed of the enemy. _Got so bad that they had to send Aaron in just to get some sort of results._ Rothweg knelt down and grabbed the handle with both his hands, turning it counterclockwise, and pulling up hard. With a grunt, and some help from his friends, the portal into the underdark opened. Gingerly, Helga went in head first, feeling her way through the first few feet before whipping out her flashlight from her left pocket and turning it on. The tunnel she was in was thin, but tall, kind of like a long walk in closet, walls of hard packed sand and wooden support beams stretching for a good few hundred feet. With one arm in front of the other, Von Kreiger led the way, her flashlight soon becoming the sole source of illumination when Rothweg shut the door behind him and reset the bolt.

Through the scrish scrish of cloth and leather rubbing over sand, the tunnels echoed with the sounds of tired men breathing. “Just think about it boys.” Helga uttered as she led the cramped processional. “We’ll soon be able to rest up for a bit, get some water and food in us, and show up the whole lot of them with stories about what we just did.”

“Personally, I’d rather think about what I’ll do when this war is over.” the man behind her politely countered. A chorus of affirmations followed his statement. “For me, I’d go back to Hamburg and see if I can get my father’s junk business either reopened or in my name. There’s a lot of money in scrap these days and given how much is still over there, I’ll be a millionaire overnight.”

“If you make it so that the employees get a stake in the company, I’ll happily join you.” Rothweg commented. “What will you do Von Kreiger? When this is all over I mean?”

That question made Helga think about her situation and her heart sank. _That decision is not in my hands private._ “Don’t really know.” she answered, noting that they were coming up to a fork in the line. “Haven’t given it much thought.”

“Well, what about your family?” Rothweg asked, trying to keep the conversation going a high note. “Maybe you can be with them?” That caused the German to stop dead in her tracks and despite the low light conditions, all could see that Helga’s head dipped downwards. Catching what he just did, the private apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press that.”

“It’s alright.” Von Kreiger replied, thankful that there wasn’t room for them to see the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve dealt with it.” Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she guided the troop to the right side of the fork. From that point, all discussion on what could be afterwards died as the trail began to snake in numerous directions. _If one didn’t know the proper layout of the place, they’d never find a way out._ Thankfully, Helga knew exactly where to go, taking the time to look around for signs, little white chalk marks others made while moving through. Before long, another door similar to the one they used to enter came into view. When she was close enough, she used the butt of the flashlight and banged hard on the metal three times. A slit opened in the center and a pair of beady brown eyes stared back at her, an ankh over the right. To be courteous, Von Kreiger shined the light on her men, a gesture that triggered a slight nod of gratitude from the guard.

“They check out.” the man mentioned in a British accent. “Opening up now.” Clunk went the slit, a few hard bangs and grinds, and then the door opened wide, bathing them all in the soft yellow glow of quartz crystal powered light strips that had been nailed to the walls. “Watch your step lass. The first one’s a doozy.” He took her by the left hand and gently led her out, allowing her to get her footing and to stand up to her full height. As he did the same for the others, Von Kreiger couldn’t help but be amazed at how sophisticated the underground was. She was standing in a main chamber, one of such dimensions that it could double as a living room. The door guard were all there, sitting in chairs with heavy weapons close by. Passages leading off to the left and right could be barely made out, other like rooms with even more men defending them. It was an intensely militarized zone, a section of the network that stretched for several miles underneath El Alamein. Though there was no threat, Helga pulled her neck scarf back up. _It smells down here. Thank God I rubbed some mint leaves on the cloth or else I’d be gagging right now._ She could also detect the whiff of something else, a cloying scent that pierced the mint and buried itself into her nostrils. _Coffee. And where there’s coffee, there’s food and a bed to sleep in._

Shouldering her M98, Von Kreiger went to her right, the soldiers politely getting out of her way so she could pass. As she walked, she wondered how everyone else was doing. Upon linking back up with the main army and given a much needed break for their efforts, the 31st JFS was thrown into the fray by order of the general. At the time, that decision that General Rommel made was quite controversial, but given how much the British suffered in the surprise attack at Dongola, there was little he could feasibly do to shore up his lines. The enemy had put up very stiff resistance and hardly let them have a moments peace. Every hour on the hour it was nothing but attack, ambush, counterattack, and feinting retreat only to repeat the cycle. The wind did little to alleviate the pressure as the Neuroi then took over offensive operations. With so much sand obscuring vision, that made the effective deployment of witch units practically impossible and extremely risky, forcing the human elements of the army to simply dig in and slug it out with horrendous costs. However, taking the underground was a big step in the right direction and it allowed the Allies to get from one crisis point to the next without showing their intentions to the foe. Deep down, Helga wished that she wasn’t simply flesh and blood, but flesh, blood, and magic. _It would be something wouldn’t it? Flying through the air and not being earthbound. I could do so much more._ She sighed the thought away as she came to a set of stairs that led down and curved towards the left. _Maybe it is for the best Helga. Best appreciate being who you are._

The steps weren’t very wide, but were very heavily trafficked and Von Kreiger had to hug the right hand side so often that splinters of wood from the paneling would gouge a hole in her uniform top. _Not a big deal. I can simply sew it back up._ Several dozen steps later, she emerged into a vast expanse, a huge area that was probably the size of what could be called the guard stations put together if not more. Helga recalled what Aaron said when they finally cleared out the last enemy strong point. _Well, it certainly isn’t Lille, but it’ll do just fine._ She didn't know what he meant, but it certainly was a sight to behold, especially when they cleared out the bodies and cleaned up a bit. Communication arrays, dormitories, kitchens, even an elevator were uncovered, as well as much needed supply dumps that the enemy thankfully didn’t blow. _Probably would’ve killed us all._ Men from all manner of units were either walking to and fro, sitting on the ground playing cards, smoking cigarettes, reading, writing letters to home or a sweetheart, and talking about Lord knows what. Such hustle and bustle would overwhelm any of the five senses, but Von Kreiger concentrated on finding out where her unit was stationed, squinting her eyes through the light haze that hung over them all like a fog.

Suddenly, Helga detected movement to her left. Whipping her head in that direction, she saw Raisa standing on a chair in the middle of a group of fairly tall soldiers, straining with all her might to reach higher and higher to get her attention. Smiling, the private gestured with her head to let the German witch know and the pilot officer hopped off the chair and rushed on over. It took her a bit of time to do it since it was the pedestrian version of rush hour, but she managed it and stated, “We were wondering what took you so long. The call to RTB went out almost five minutes ago.”

“Needed to take out a pillbox that had been giving us trouble.” Von Kreiger explained. “Delta Tango.”

“Delta Tango.” Pottgen murmured, sounding like she knew where that was. “That’s all the way up the G line isn’t it?”

“Practically the enemy’s backyard, yes.” Helga answered.

“Wow.” Raisa uttered, clearly impressed. “You guys were really up there. Let’s get you something to eat and a place to sit down. Follow me.” With that, the two meandered through the throng, passing through the rank and file section and into the one designated for witch units only. She could tell they were on the right track due to the numerous signs that read in bold black and white lettering: NON WITCH PERSONNEL PROHIBITED. Von Kreiger got a few rough stares from some of the other witches, but Raisa just made a curious gesture, interlocking her index fingers twice and they nodded. _That’s strange. I don’t remember that one._

“What are you saying to them?” Helga asked. “I don’t recognize it from training.”

“It’s a sign for those who are deaf.” Pottgen responded. “It means friend.”

“You can do sign language?” Von Kreiger inquired.

“Oh yes.” Raisa replied. “My father lost most of his hearing in the Great War and spent quite a bit of time in France learning sign language. The instructor he had also taught me. Before I enlisted, I was on the fast track to becoming an interpreter. We witches use this sign often, but you’ll never find it in the manual because the Allies couldn’t get permission to use it.”

“I honestly didn’t know that.” the private marveled.

“Well you do now and we’re here.” Pottgen announced. And indeed they were. Sitting around in a small ring was most of the squadron, huddled around a small fire where a cauldron of ersatz coffee was being stirred by Audie who was using a bayonet, sweating a tad from the heat rising into his face. “Look who I found ladies and gentlemen.” she declared, stepping off to the side like a presenter at an award show. A chorus of assents, nods, and cheers greeted the returning private and she sat down, feeling the relief of finally being able to sit spread throughout her body.

“Coffee should be up in about another minute.” Murphy reported, wiping his right sleeve over his brow and switching hands.

“You said that one minute ago.” Elizabeth retorted, growing impatient.

“Not my fault we have to make sure that this stuff gets stirred thoroughly.” the American countered. “Unless of course you want your coffee to taste like tar.”

Von Kreiger let the two have their spat, getting her kit off of her and resting her father’s rifle against the chair. Rubbing her eyes for the first time in a good while, she leaned back in the seat, looking up at the high ceiling. _This feels so damn good right now I could fall asleep right here._ “Don’t fall asleep yet private,” a voice piped up from the group. It brought her out of her thoughts and Helga looked front and center. Standing up was Marseilles, holding a tiny box in her hands. “at least not until you get a proper welcome.” She walked on over and stood by her. “From what Rai told me, you and your assigned squad took out the last major obstacle on the G line. Thanks to you and your men, we have an almost clear path which we can use to flank the enemy army and take them in the rear without asking their names. General Rommel is most pleased with your efforts and has charged me with with rewarding you for said services.” she explained. Hanna then opened the box, revealing the collar pins and shoulder badges of a sergeant within. “Congratulations Sergeant Von Kreiger. You earned it.” A round of applause came from everyone, yet Helga simply looked at the insignia in disbelief. _I got promoted?!_

“Keep up the good work and we might have another lieutenant in the ranks very shortly.” Audie quipped while withdrawing the bayonet from the java pot and fetching a ladle.

A weak smile seeped out of the German’s face and she took the box politely from her superior officer. Deciding that now was a good of a time as any, she started to remove her old private patch and affix the new sergeant patch. Pride swelled within her as gazed upon the chevrons. _Never thought in a million years I’d get rewarded for this this. Thought I’d spend the rest of the war as a buck private. Kind of glad to see that I was wrong._ Looking around the group, Helga saw happy faces from everyone, except for one noticeably absent individual. Her brow furrowed as she asked, “Does anyone know where Aaron is? Have any of you seen him at all today?”

That statement hushed the crowd and they all looked at each other uneasily. Marseilles slowly made her way back to her chair and sat down, producing a tin cup so that she could get some coffee that Murphy even now was spooning carefully. “I personally haven’t heard anything from him in the past few hours.” she answered indifferently. “The last time I saw him was when he was about to head off into the tunnels along A line and that was at 0200 this morning. We tried to hail him, but communications are hell down there. The underground emits too much interference.”

“What about morse?” Von Kreiger inquired.

“It’s a bit of hit and miss with that.” Pottgen admitted. “There’s so much overlap with what’s going on above and below the surface that it’s hard to decipher it all.”

“I think I remember seeing him up around B line some time ago. Maybe 0800.” Aurora chimed, blowing the steam off her cup of coffee. “I waved to him, but he I don’t think he saw me and vanished.”

“He was certainly at C line too around 1100.” Amelie pointed out. “Both me and Juliette saw him as we were doing cas evac after a nasty artillery barrage. Just skirted around though, didn’t make much effort to get stuck in for long.”

“I’m worried about him.” Juliette uttered. “No one’s seen him come back here and its now almost 1500. He’s been on the front for too long.”

“Don’t worry too much about him.” Edmund assured, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s the toughest bastard I know. He’ll be fine.”

“He’s also the the most stubborn bastard I know.” Rudel added. “Constantly puts himself in harms way though he knows its going to hurt. Not a good recipe for success, or long life.”

“Don’t go saying such dark shit.” Wilma piped up.

“Personally, I don’t give a damn what you or anyone else has to say about me.” a deep voice called out. Everyone turned in their seats and saw a sight that made them nearly drop their coffee cups in shock. It was Aaron, standing with an uncharacteristic sag to his spine, goggles and neck scarf almost wholly grayed over from sand and dust. His uniform and pants were pockmarked with so many bullet holes that they might as well have been rags. Dried blood trails ran from his ears and a big dark spot ringed the bottom of the scarf near the neck, looking like a collar. His shotgun hung limply in his left hand, the barrel grazing the ground. Sand had penetrated and abraded his exposed skin, some places rubbed red pink raw, especially around the knees and fingers. Slowly, Divale raised his right arm and, using his thumb, slid it across the goggle lenses, smearing the grainy debris away like over dried makeup, clumps falling off in penny sized sheets. “Nice to finally see you all again.” he added while walking towards them, though in Juliette’s mind, walking would’ve been too strong of a word. _He’s staggering back. What the hell happened to him?_

Juliette sprang out of her seat and exclaimed, “Where the hell have you been?! We’ve been worried sick about you!” The warlock didn’t answer, regarding her with could best be thought of as a blank stare. It was then that Deveraux noticed that in the upper part of his left arm, right near the ball joint leading into the shoulder, there was a ring of crimson. _He’s wounded._ “Sit down and let me take a look at that.” she advised, pointing to the sole empty seat available.

“Where is the restroom?” Aaron asked, wiping his dirty thumb on what remained of his pants.

“That can wa-” Juliette started to say, but Divale tilted his head so hard that he cracked his upper vertebrae, eyes flashing like warning signals.

“I’ve been holding back a piss for the last two fucking hours.” he countered as politely as he could. “Unless you want to do triage in a puddle of urine, you’ll tell me where the bathroom is right now.”

That caused the corporal to back away, pointing to a small fenced off area just past the main tent. “Merci (Thank you).” Aaron thanked and shuffled off to the privy. Long trails of furrowed hard packed sand were left in his wake, being far too tired to pick up his feet. Divale reached the door and opened it with the barrel of the shotgun. Inside, what no decent human being would qualify as a toilet, was simply a long sloping trench dug into the earth that led off to a massive sinkhole that reeked of ammonia. A small stand stood nearby with a bar of soap, some toilet paper, and bowl full of water. _I’ve pissed in worse._ Eschewing the zipper, the warlock merely fished out his member through a nearby tear in his pants, left it hanging loose, and started to urinate loudly.

“You could be courteous and shut the door you know.” Marseilles yelled. “Some of us don’t want to hear that.”

With practiced ease, the warlock pinched the flow with his right hand, turned to look back at the lieutenant, and stated plainly and with confidence, “I do what I want.” Then he returned to his business and sighed as two hours worth of internal pain from having a full bladder dissipated with every drop. The sense of relief nearly caused him to stumble backwards, but he sued the shotgun as a makeshift cane, righting his posture for the most part. Aaron looked at his reflection in the bowl of water, noting how off colored he looked. He took off his goggles and blinked a few times, the sensation of getting real air onto them making them feel like they were being stung by wasps. _Just like seeing the sun for the first time._ Looking again, he nearly laughed at seeing that he had a band of contrasting skin color that wrapped around his skull and eye sockets like a diver who’d been the sun too long.Soon, the stream began to lessen and Divale gave it a quick pinch and shake before stowing it back in. Then he turned to the task of washing his hands, leaving the shotgun on the ground by the door. _Don’t want to eat or drink after touching yourself in the restroom. Very bad manners._ The water was ice cold as he plunged his paws into it.

A bright light and what is under the world flips to the surface. However, the tents are replaced with tall trees that reeked of pine and the air was much cleaner, yet heavy with moisture. Suddenly, a flash as lightning streaks across a black sky. Rain falls yet again from the heavens into an unseen face. Vision blurs as the water gets into the eyes, obscuring the surroundings. Muscles ache and lips feel the beads of dried blood, little of it his own. Two shapes materialize from the darkness and cover the eyes. The group watched Divale take the time to wash his hands, pour some of the soap scummed water down the trench and the rest onto his face. He untied his neck scarf, reversed it, and placed it over his eyes and mouth, wiping away the dirt and grime. Strangely, he walked out of the restroom, cloth still on his face, and successfully navigated himself back to the circle, even sitting flush right in the lone vacant chair. Juliette swooped in with her medical kit and was about to tell him to remove his uniform when Aaron took away the scarf.

Helga’s eyes widened in horror. Streaks of gray had embedded themselves into the shallow wrinkles and laugh lines in his forehead and face, making him look like an actor in ghost makeup. Near the ears and just under the nose were patches of red, the color of the dried blood mingling with the dust. From underneath his neck, a hunk of congealed vitae fell off into his lap, breaking into pieces like a plate hitting a hardwood floor. But that was nothing compared to the eyes. Von Kreiger knew what battle fatigue did to a man and she saw the tell tale signs of what many called the thousand yard stare. They were both unfocused and blank, dead to all emotion. It was unnerving and she forced herself to look away.

“Aaron?” Juliette whispered in Aaron’s left ear. Divale responded with a simple tilting of his neck, the eyes not even moving. “Lets get that top off you and see what’s up.” she instructed. A grunt followed and Aaron viciously ripped the front off of him, buttons flying in all directions. The arms didn’t come off with the top, but he peeled them off like they were socks. His white T-shirt was soaked with blood from not just his left arm wound, but from several other small punctures along the side and bits of his neck as well. _Fucking Christ._ Deveraux opened the medical kit and pulled out a pair of scissors. As she cut the shirt away from the wounds, Audie handed Divale a cup of coffee, a gift that he accepted eagerly despite his exhaustion.

He took a deep sip of the java, not giving a damn at how it was. The warm liquid burned down his throat, but he didn’t feel it at all. _To tired to feel pain._ Aaron looked around at the concerned faces and shrugged with his other arm. “To answer you question Juliette,” he began, taking a deep ragged breath, “I’ve been in the trenches for awhile. Started at A line, cleared a chuck of that out, popped up for air, went down into B line, got pushed out, went down again and fought all the way through C line. So when’s breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Marseilles queried with a cocked eyebrow. “Breakfast was hours ago.” She leaned in and asked, “How long have you been in there?”

Pain registered along the left side of his neck, but the warlock put on a puzzled look. “What time is it?” he inquired.

“It’s almost 1500.” Helga answered, finding the courage to look at him again.

The mug went limp in Aaron’s right hand, steaming coffee pouring over the lip and over his fingers. It stung like hell, but nothing like the realization that he came to. “Holy fuck.” he muttered softly. “I’ve been in there since 2330 last night.”

Juliette heard him as she cleaned the last of the neck wounds and her jaw dropped. “2330?!” she exclaimed. “That would mean that you’ve been fighting almost nonstop for the past sixteen hours!”

“There’s this thing called a watch lieutenant.” Marseilles pointed out. “You should use it some time.”

“If it didn’t take a pistol shot, I would.” Aaron retorted, getting annoyed. Another sip of coffee later, his mood got marginally better and he added, “But none of that matters now. The important thing is I’m back and as soon as I get this coffee in me, I’m crawling in a hole somewhere and passing out.”

“None of it matters?!” Raisa countered loudly. “Aaron, you look like three day old dog shit and you walk like you’ve had a stroke. Why didn’t you come off the line sooner?”

“You really need to stop being stubborn.” Rudel chimed. “This happens again and we end up needing you right then and there, will you be able to do your job?”

That made an opening where everyone started to inject their two cents into, but Aaron’s eyes started to turn a shade of orange which quieted things down in a heartbeat. He glared at the colonel and uttered, “This wasn’t me being bullheaded Hanna. I couldn’t come off the line because I needed to make sure that the positions were properly covered in case the enemy counterattacked, and trust me, they attacked often and hard. Fucking tunnels were so narrow in spots that some folks couldn’t get through and had to go up on the surface to try to get into some other way and then they had to fight their way inside because the enemy were already there. Utterly F.U.B.A.R. And to make matters worse, the bastards had oerlikons dug in at blind man’s curves and juncture points. Don’t ask me how the hell they managed it, but they were chewing us up. Surprised the passageways didn’t collapse from the shots.”

“So I take it an oerlikon was what caused this lovely injury?” Deveraux inquired, tapping the wound with her tweezers.

“Oh that scratch?” Divale asked, looking down at her. “Yeah, it was. Managed to get through my wings and plugged me.”

“Well, this scratch of yours lets me see about a penny sized portion of your upper arm bone.” Juliette illuminated. “I know you can heal that easily from I recall from France, but you have a hairline fracture right next to your joint that will make it painful for you if you decide to lift your arm more than a quarter of the way. No bone fragments to be seen so that’s just about the only good news that I can give you, besides you still being alive.”

“Good thing you’re ambidextrous eh Aaron?” Elizabeth joked with a sly wink while making a lewd gesture with her right hand over her groin.

The warlock cocked his eyebrow and smiled right back at her. “I don’t need a Jill to help me out.”

“Course not.” Aurora agreed, barging in on the conversation. “All you have to do is ring up Tatiana and she’ll come running.”

A chorus of oooohs made its rounds and all Aaron could do was take it with stoic grace. His dirty little secret managed to get loose after Dongola, courtesy of Rudel, but deep down, he honestly didn’t care what people thought. “You sound a little jealous there Juutilainen.” he shot back playfully. “Still a bit miffed about what happened in Russia?”

Aurora went beet red with embarrassment and Beurling looked at her and said, “You’ve got to tell me that story.”

“Please don’t.” Wilma and Edmund stated in unison.

“There we go.” Juliette announced after pulling the bandage taut. “Don’t overdo it and sleep on your back tonight.”

“Thanks Luc-” Divale started to say, but he instantly caught himself a moment later. “I mean Juliette. Yes. Thank you Juliette for your help. I do appreciate it.”

“What did you call me?” Deveraux pressed.

“I misspoke.” Aaron acknowledged. “It happens sometimes when I’m tired. You know?” Though he didn’t make eye contact with any of his fellow squadron members, the warlock could still see in his peripheral that several of them were exchanging looks, the concerned kind. He also saw Marseilles cock her head off to the side and put her right hand to her ear. _Receiving a message._

“Understood general. We’re on our way.” Hanna stated before cutting the link. She got up alongside Pottgen and proclaimed, “Sergeant Von Kreiger and Lieutenant Divale. You are to come with Rai and me to meet with General Rommel on the double.”

Helga got up, but Aaron didn’t budge. “You can tell him to kiss my ass.” he remarked, giving her the finger. “I just got off the line and I’m in no condition to go anywhere. I’m done.”

“Suit yourself.” Pottgen replied. “I guess that means more refreshments for the rest of us.”

No sooner did she mention the word refreshments than an enormous rumble emanated from the warlock’s bare stomach. His eyes darted down, then back up to Hanna. “You have a spare shirt?” he asked sheepishly.

*****************

It turned out that Marseilles did not, but that didn’t deter them from making the trek to HQ. Located topside, but wedged between two buildings that provided some sort of cover from the hellish winds, it wasn’t all that bad exposing oneself. Still, Aaron had no intention of getting his bandages dirty and riddled with sand, so to that end, he procured some rags from debris around the place and sewed them all together to make a robe. By the time he was done and put it on, he looked like a poor mans Joesph. The fabric smelled old and was stained with who knew what. Hanna hated it the moment she saw it and demanded that he take it off. Divale merely pointed out that it wouldn’t look good to the general if he saw that a member of such an illustrious unit like the 31st JFS was going about half naked with exposed wounds. That seemed to settle the argument when they finally got to the HQ, but instead of being invited in, it turned out that Rommel was in a meeting and they had to wait outside.

Helga leaned against the wall, listening to the howling winds as they whipped up the ground and anything light enough to come with it. She’d been watching a thin brick getting sand blasted for a good few minutes, noting the once sharp edges getting duller and duller. _Thank God I’m not out there. It would rip the skin off my face._ Taking her eyes of the forces of nature at work, Von Kreiger gazed upon Hanna and Raisa sitting on some rocks they found nearby, whispering to each other. Aaron was on the opposite side of the wall, away from everyone, arms crossed over his massive chest and looking down, occasionally kicking random pebbles out into the sandstorm. She noticed that he was deeply troubled if the taut look to face was anything to go by. Pangs of regret rushed up from her heart as she understood why. _He’s not over her at all. Maybe it’s because that Juliette looks like Lucretia. Has to be it. Aaron never makes a mistake like that._

A rustle from the tent flap made her whip her head in that direction. Everyone else saw it move too and looked off to the side just in time to see the entrance open, revealing the figure of Neumann standing at the threshold. “You all can come in. General Rommel will be out in a moment. There’s some sandwiches on a table. Help yourselves.” Marseilles and Pottgen rushed on inside, eager to get in and get the meeting over with. The warlock was right on their heels, but before he could step past her, Edytha stopped him with a firm open palmed push from her left hand. “What do you think you’re doing walking into HQ dressed like that?” she demanded. Aaron craned his neck, glaring at her with his glazed eyes. The sight of his condition made the air commander back away and hastily apologize. “Never mind. Go right ahead.” A grunt was Divale’s only response as he strolled on by. Neumann watched him go and shook her head just as Helga got to the entrance. “Was zum Teufel ist ihm passiert (What the hell happened to him)?” she pondered.

“Viele (Lots of things),” Von Kreiger answered, “aber es ist am besten, wenn wir ihn nur für jetzt verlassen (but it’s best if we just leave him be for now).” The air commander nodded in understanding and held the flap open so that Helga could get in. Inside, the tent was spacious and had very little in terms of clutter. A wide wooden table took up the center with six metal folding chairs around it. Nearby was a platter, five sandwiches on dark bread stacked high with tea saucers next to it. Some file cabinets and a desk were off on the right hand side and the sand on the ground looked well traveled to the point where there were crisscrossing ankle high trench lines. _Must have been a hell of a meeting._ Another sectioned off portion of the tent lay slightly past the table, presumably a privacy curtain for when the general was indisposed or wanted to be alone. Von Kreiger walked over to the table just as Marseilles started handing out the plates. Two sandwiches went to her and Raisa took one. Aaron stood there, looking at the food with a pained expression to his face. A second later, he reached out and instead of taking a full sandwich, broke one in half and took the piece on the left.

Helga realized what he was doing and, while she did appreciate it, she also knew that he was ravenously hungry. “It’s alright.” she assured. “I don’t really need one and a half. You can have the another piece if you want.”

“I’ll live.” Divale muttered, taking the sandwich in his right hand and taking a big bite out of it. “Hmm. Powdered egg and mustard. Needs a dash of pepper and salt.” Before the sergeant could try to convince him further, the warlock walked away, finding a seat next to Raisa. Shrugging her shoulders in defeat, Helga took the last of the sandwiches from the platter and sat down next to Hanna. Edytha set up shop next to Aaron, leaving just one more seat unfilled. “Awfully strange that he’s back there and not here considering he knew we were coming.” he quipped softly as he shoved the last bit of food in his mouth.

The grate of cheap porcelain on wood echoed throughout the tent as Marseilles glared a hole into the warlock, her lips taut. “The general has had a long day lieutenant.” Neumann informed. “Before you got here, he and General Montgomery had a very heated discussion.”

“One that thankfully is over and done with.” a voice stated from beyond the veil. A hand weaved its way around the flap, grabbed it, and pulled it away, revealing General Rommel with a sheaf of papers in his right hand. “I knew from my colleagues that he held different views about war, but I had no idea that he was so passionate about them.” he added as he made his way to the sole empty seat. He sighed with pleasure as he sat down, setting the papers off to the side. It was at that point that he noticed Aaron’s patchwork robe and commented, “Interesting attire Lieutenant Divale. I didn’t know that such dress was permitted.”

“Deepest apologies General Rommel.” Marseilles blurted. “I told him to remove those atrocious garments, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Rommel took it in and cocked his eyebrow at Divale. “And why would you refuse such an order lieutenant?”

The warlock didn’t answer immediately, but instead pulled it down on his left side, revealing his bandaged wounds. “I figured that no one would want to see this.” he replied.

Erwin nodded. "Fighting in confined spaces is never easy, but believe me, we do appreciate it lieutenant.” he remarked with admiration. After Aaron readjusted his robe, he cleared his throat. “I have called you all here to help me deal with an issue that has captivated and perplexed us all for the past forty eight hours.” he announced, taking the first paper off the stack and placing it in the center of the table so that everyone could look at it. “This is the latest aerial reconnaissance photograph of the city, taken within the last hour or so. Our line’s in blue, red for the enemy. Due to heroic efforts in the south, we have almost a clear path which we can effectively penetrate the enemy’s flank and skirt off to the rear with. The enemy knows this and has pulled back to more defensible locations in the desert, hoping to catch us in the flank should we overextend. Though casualty reports have been contradictory at best, they have been dealt a massive blow, leaving them little in the way to draw forces away from the northern sectors to deal with us, but they have done so. However, instead of sending them to where we thought they should be, they have been going here.” he elaborated.

“Where’s here?” Hanna asked, not seeing anything on the photo that would make sense.

General Rommel took another paper, an additional photograph, and placed it over the other. “Right here.” he stated. “There is a fort near the coast at the tail end of the Ruweisat Ridge which has been punishing our advances with pinpoint artillery strikes. Their position gives them a clear view of the entire battlefront. Normally, reinforcing this strategic point would be sound, but now, given that we can effectively flank their position from multiple angles, it makes no tactical sense. Even before battle was joined, we had numerous reports that they’ve been funneling men and materiel inside by land and by sea using PT boats.”

“That’s very strange.” Aaron commented.

“Even more so when we managed to get our hands on several copies of the freight manifests.” Rommel went on. “They constantly mention a certain shipment 482 and, as of what we’ve been able to determine, over three hundred of these shipments have been delivered within the past five days. General Montgomery and I have been at loggerheads on what to do about it ever since.”

“Why’s that?” Helga queried.

“He is under the impression that it is all a ruse to allow them more time to receive possible reinforcements from Mersa Matruh.” Neumann explained, taking the reins from the general for a bit. “General Rommel and I believe there’s something going on that we need to know about and soon. Popular theory between us right now is that they are explosives which they intend to detonate the moment we get on the ridge en masse to drive them out.”

“Which would cause tremendous loss of life.” Rommel added. “Life that I wish to preserve for as long as possible. I don’t want to shoot first only to cause a landslide to come on top of us.”

“So you want us to infiltrate this fort and find out what it’s all about?” Aaron inquired, cocking his eyebrows.

“Indeed.” Rommel replied. “And I believe you’d be the best fit for the job.”

A silence ensued as the warlock thought very long and hard about what he was going to say. “With great respect General Rommel, you can go f-” he uttered with a straight face.

“Finding someone else for the assignment might be the better option here general.” Von Kreiger quickly interrupted before chaos broke loose with that expletive laden answer. “Lieutenant Divale has just come off the line. He’s been plugging away for sixteen straight hours without so much as a break. He needs rest. Moreover, he has a hairline fracture in his left arm. Can’t raise it up halfway without pain.”

Erwin listened and his lower lips wrinkled with displeasure. “That’s a real shame.” he said sadly. “I’d high hopes for this operation.”

“Not to worry General Rommel.” Marseilles assured confidently. “I can easily take his place.”

Neumann stifled a chuckle and waved her right hand dismissively. “There’s no need Hanna. We already have our replacement in mind.” she replied, staring right at Helga.

At that point, Von Kreiger felt really uncomfortable and wished she was smaller than an ant. _He can’t possibly think I can do that can he?! I can’t!_ “Whoa whoa whoa.” Aaron stated rapidly, making a T with his hands. “Are you serious? There’s no way she can get inside.”

“She is an infiltrator.” Rommel argued in a low voice. “And from what I understand, she also fooled you on at least one occasion.”

Divale swallowed back a venomous retort and stayed on track. “I’ll grant that, but she’s more of an actor than a sleuth.” he countered. “It takes time to forge an identity and to really get in character. You can’t just expect to whip up a unique personality on the spot. It can’t be done.”

“That and from what I see in the photograph here, Neuroi are swarming all over this ridge. They can recognize friend from foe without an ankh. Aaron’s right. She wouldn’t even get within a country mile of the place without getting killed. It’s suicide.” Pottgen added.

“I know what the projected survival rate is pilot officer.” Rommel shot back, his patience nearing an end. “Both Air Commander Neumann and I have discussed this at length and we’re adamant that either one or the other is to go on this mission.”

A hard snap of the fingers made everyone look at Marseilles who, despite being rebuked, had a look of hopefulness. “Maybe there’s another possibility.” she uttered. Turning to Aaron, she asked, “Lieutenant, is it within your power to allow others to use your magic? Or if not, possibly channel your power through another person?”

Divale met her stare with one of his own, one that made it clear that he wished she never asked that question. _I know exactly what you’re doing you bitch and I don’t like it. But I’m not going to see someone get screwed if I can help it, even if it is her._ “You mean aetheric transference?” he inquired. Hanna nodded enthusiastically and the warlock answered more in full, “Yes I can. It’ll cost me, but I can do it.”

“How close do you have to be?” Rommel asked, now very interested in the conversation.

“Depends on the spell mostly.” Aaron explained, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “At basic levels, it requires me to either be in close proximity or have direct contact. If I really project it, I can feasibly channel my power from a remote location.”

“How remote are we talking?” Edytha queried.

Divale looked up at the ceiling of the tent, figuring out the numbers in his head. “Around three quarters of a mile, give or take a few dozen feet.” he theorized.

“So you’re doing this?” Raisa pressed with a furrowed brow. “You and Von Kreiger are going to work together?”

The warlock shrugged his shoulders and made a whimsical smile. “Neither of us can do it on our own. No real choice here.”

“But are you even in a condition to do it?” Helga asked with concern. “You really should rest.”

“I wouldn’t agree to help you if I didn’t think I could.” Aaron remarked, staring at her. “Plus, what Pottgen said is absolutely true. You’re not getting in there by yourself.”

“So it’s settled!” Hanna announced triumphantly, feeling quite proud of the coup she just executed. “Lieutenant Divale and Sergeant Von Kreiger will get the intelligence you need General Rommel. You have my word.”

“As long as there’s another platter of those wonderful egg and mustard sandwiches and some assurance on the part of my honorable superior to make sure that I’m not disturbed during a six hour nap, we’ll get the job done.” Aaron chimed with a sly smile.

“If that’s all the payment you require, you’ll have it gladly.” Rommel agreed. “I’ll leave the planning of the operation to you. Make sure Sergeant Von Kreiger gets back alive Lieutenant Divale. There’s a lot of fighting left to do.”

“Will do general.” Aaron replied with a salute. The rest of squadron followed suit and Rommel returned it.

“That concludes our meeting.” Erwin stated. Turning to Neumann, he mentioned, “I’m going to retire for a bit. Make sure that I’m not disturbed.”

“Of course general.” Edytha responded. “Get some sleep.” With that, the German general vacated his seat and went back to the rear of the tent, opening the flap and disappearing without so much as another word.

Divale then took the top photo from the pile in the middle of the table and looked at it closely. Helga watched him scan the picture like some art critic for a good few seconds before he breathed, “Now that’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“You found a way?” Von Kreiger asked.

“Of course I found a way.” Aaron replied. “My way.”

*************

The captain released probably the loudest fart he ever made as he defecated profusely into a hastily dug and thus all too small of a hole. “Fucking cheap ersatz MRE meat.” he muttered as the shit continued to flow out of his ass. His stall soon began to reek of feces and flatulence, commingling with whatever the previous persons left behind. As the pressure lessened in his bowels, the enemy officer regarded his stall with a grimace of resignation. Far from the comforts of some of the ritzier places within El Alamein, this communal crap hole was about as bad as it could get. Built with nothing but plywood, sandbags, a lantern that hung from a peg, and provided with a stool with a center cut hole, he was amazed that it managed to hold up against the winds that whipped several feet above his head, blocking out what would’ve been a moonlit night. His place, or stall rather, was one of many, fifty in all, that served the entirety of the fort’s garrison. However, a fifty person toilet was woefully inadequate when one remembered that there were over three thousand soldiers stationed there, and that didn’t include the skirmisher lines. As such, the conditions were in short disgusting. Shit was smeared on the sandbagged walls, stuck to the barely there privacy door in clumps, and all around the hole in massive piles. To combat flies, orderlies occasionally came by every few hours to sprinkle some DDT, throwing it like rice at weddings. Toilet paper ran out several days ago, mostly due to hoarding, so that left many, the captain included, little choice but to use socks that they stole from dead enemy soldiers.

 _Thank God trench foot can’t infect your asshole._ Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a pair of rather damp socks that stank of sweat. The captain sighed as he raised his buttocks in the air and wiped generously, folding after every swipe to get the most out of it. He considered placing them back in his pocket to take with him and wash later, but he decided against it, instead throwing them off to the left side at a pile of rancid stools. Before beginning to pull up his pants, he broke wind yet again. Just as he grabbed the sides of his trousers, the captain detected a scent that had no place in a bathroom. The odor made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. _What the fuck is that? Smells almost like rotten seaweed._ It was then that events took a turn for the worst for the enemy officer as he felt a sharp pain in his back that took the wind out of him. Try as he might, he couldn’t inhale and the whistling of oxygen could be faintly heard. The pain spread, going in all directions like someone was twisting his skin. Suddenly, clarity dawned on him as his vision began to blur and his breathing slowed. _I’m being stabbed._

Helga held the dying man like a climber does a rock face, preventing him from falling over and causing unnecessary sound. Fifteen minute old seawater dribbled down her diving suit, a black rubber sleeve essentially, held together with zippers and plastic coverings so that water couldn’t permeate. She could see the blood bubble as the enemy officer tried to breathe, some of it oozing down onto her gloved hands. There was still dust on them from having climbed several hundred feet up the near sheer rock face of the ridge. As harrowing as that was even in normal conditions, it was made all the worse with the sandstorm. It was hard to see and more than once she thought that she was going to fall to her death. Somehow, someway, Von Kreiger managed to scale the heights and sneak into the bathroom, aided in large part by Aaron’s invisibility magic. _Told me to find the highest ranking man in here in a place that was far in the back and kill them._ Her breathing apparatus had long since been discarded and the German sergeant now desperately wished she had kept it. The body convulsed and went limp in her grasp. The man was dead. With the deed done, Helga propped the officer up in the stool as best she could, avoiding the mess he and many others made into the bargain. After making sure that the body was secure, she moved on to the next stage of Aaron’s master plan. _When you kill that individual, open your pack and find a small pill in a tin. Chew and swallow it._ Reaching behind her, Von Kreiger inched from her back to her front a tiny waterproofed pack around the size of a purse. Carefully and quietly opening up the zipper, she fished around for the tin. Her fingers quickly found it and took it out. Taking the cap off, she saw the pill, but in her opinion, it was far from small. The blue capsule was the size of a dime and as thick as her pinky finger.

 _If it helps me get the job done, so be it._ Tipping the tin like a glass, Helga dropped the pill into her mouth and bit down hard. It shattered with a crunch and an explosion of apple flavoring washed over her tongue. The sensation was so intense that it felt like it was burning her mouth. She held back a yelp and swallowed the remains. Breathing out, the scent of an orchard’s worth of fresh cut apples wafted from her maw. +Man oh man,+ the voice of Aaron exclaimed, +we are making great timing!+ Hearing him so awfully close by threw Von Kreiger into a mini panic and she whipped her head around this way and that to see where on earth he was. _He’s supposed to be somewhere else! Why is he here?!_

“Aaron?” she whispered, still not seeing hide or hair of him. “Where are you?”

+Don’t talk.+ Divale instructed. +Think your words.+

The German didn’t really understand what was happening, but tried to do as she was told. +Like this?+ she inquired.

+Exactly like that. Now we need to make this quick. It won’t be long before someone decides to come in here.+ the warlock stated.

+How can we talk like this?+ Helga queried, putting the empty tin back into her pack.

+It’s a little spell called praevisionis. I don’t use it very often, but it allows me to communicate with you using only my mind. In addition, it also gives me the ability to sense whatever you’re seeing, hearing, feeling, and, unfortunately, smelling. Take a good look at the stiff would you?+ Aaron explained. Von Kreiger glanced at the body, pants still wrapped around the ankles. +Tsk. Tsk. I’ve seen some sad things in my time, but that there is a tragedy.+ he crassly remarked. +Okay Helga, listen up. I’m going to use another spell and it’s going to feel weird for a bit.+

Von Kreiger felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. +What do you mean by weird?+ she asked.

+Like having your foot fall asleep weird except it’s all over instead of just your foot. Nothing too much to worry about. You’ll be fine. Just take a deep breath and relax. I got you.+ Divale assured. Helga took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her body instinctively tensing up. +Melius transponunt.+ A harsh prickling sensation ran up and down and all around her body. It was akin to coming in after a cold nights watch only to have the heat of the fire be your worst enemy instead of your savior. Muscles started to spasm and her hands and legs started trembling. +Mind over matter Helga.+ Aaron advised. +Just little bit longer and then… there we go.+ As suddenly as it came, the stinging tingle went, leaving nothing but a warm relaxing comfort. She looked herself up and down, but couldn’t see anything that was different about her.

+What did you do?+ she pondered.

+I essentially copied what the captain looked like and transposed it onto you.+ Divale illuminated. +You yourself are unchanged, but everyone you meet will see the officer and not you. Also changes your voice to sound like him too. Great disguise, but it has a flaw: contact. If you get touched by another living person, the spell breaks and you’ll be more neck deep in shit than you are right now. Touch his head with your right hand.+

+Another spell?+ Helga inquired. +How many do we need?+

+Enough so that we get the job done and you back in one piece.+ Divale replied. +This one isn’t going to be as gentle as the last one. Be ready and please don’t scream or vomit.+ He paused for a second so that his proxy could prepare themselves for the magical onslaught. +Sanguisuga.+ he intoned. The aetheric energy shot out of Von Kreiger’s hand with such force that she wrapped her fingers around the dead man’s skull hard enough for the rubber gloves to rip skin. Images and flashes of bright light flooded through her mind so fast that Helga couldn’t make any sense of it. It was discombobulating to the point where nausea started to kick in.

+Aaron! I can’t hold on much longer! It’s too much! Make it stop!+ Von Kreiger pleaded.

+Another few seconds.” the warlock answered, doing his best to calm her down. +Hold on just a bit longer sergeant.+ Helga wasn’t sure why he needed more time, but she gritted her teeth in an attempt to tough it out. Then suddenly, things began to go much slow. Images that were once blurs were now clear and the lights dimmed.

+What are these things?+ she asked, in awe of what she was experiencing. +Memories?+

+You are correct.+ Divale replied, almost sounding surprised that she figured it out on her own. +Everything this man knew, we both now know. Dive right in and develop your new persona. You can let go of him too by the way.+

Von Kreiger withdrew her right hand, blood staining her gloved fingertips from where she clung to the cranium and began to think, sifting through the raw data that was the captain’s life. +Let’s see. Captain Markus Reichsmann, formerly Afrika Corp 96/3 now head of security. No nonsense by the book staff stomper. Very uncaring for subordinates and has executed more than a few people for disagreeing with him.+

+So an asshole basically.+ Aaron deduced.

+I was going to say you, but if you insist.+ Helga countered.

+Ha.+ Divale mocked. +There’s also a lot regarding the layout of the fort. Massive as fuck. Eight full levels built right into the rock. Even has it’s own elevator. Classy. Nothing on the shipments though. This could be a problem.+

+We don’t have time to go on a wild goose chase. This body won’t stay hidden forever.+ Helga retorted. +That said, can I please get out of here? The vapors are making me gag.+

+Lead on.+ Aaron simply said. +You’ll still be invisible as you make your way out. Don’t want the Neuroi to spot you.+

+Aren’t you being a touch paranoid here?+ Von Kreiger asked, taking the officer’s hat and gingerly tiptoeing through the minefield in the stall towards the privacy door.

+I can take a beam to the chest,+ Divale pointed out, +you however cannot.+ Helga tiptoed to the privacy door and listened intently, seeing if anyone was walking around. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, she opened the door, popped out into the main straightaway, and closed it behind her. A long passage greeted her eyes, twenty five stalls on either side of the wall. The sounds of voiding bowels was audible even from where she stood, followed by the groans of those who apparently had a rough time with it. Breathing through her mouth in an attempt to not pass out from the stench, Von Kreiger walked towards the exit. No one was coming her way so she relaxed and poured over the memories of the dead captain. As she neared the end of the line, Helga could see that the door was wide open, propped in place by two sandbags. A helmet was there as well wedged tightly into the high trench wall, upside down and almost overflowing with coins of all makes. There were even some gold nuggets as well. The wind continued to howl, whipping up and over the trenches, leaving sand clouds everywhere. +If this were the old days, I would’ve given a shit about leaving that helmet.+ Aaron mused. +But alas, duty calls.+

+Was that a shit joke?+ Von Kreiger groaned. +You should be concentrating on the mission.+

+Humor, in all of its wonderful forms should never be discarded, even in impractical situations like this.+ Divale replied. +It doesn’t do you or anyone else any good if you’re serious all the time. Learned that lesson very early on.+

+Too bad you never learned when to be nice to superior officers.+ Helga noted, navigating the winding trench while keeping her head down. +If I hadn’t interrupted you when we had that meeting with Rommel, things might have gotten ugly.+

+You should’ve let me let him have it.+ the warlock stated. +He was getting way too pushy for his own good. Would’ve put him in his place right then and there. And then that bitch had to strong arm the both of us into doing this. Fucker probably counted on Marseilles pulling a stunt like that, playing to her ego and her need to have attention and fame. Fucking sickening. I see it all the time too.+

+Something tells me that you’ve told other high ups what you felt way before Rommel.+ Helga deduced.

+Oh yes.+ Aaron agreed. +I told Montgomery to get off his high horse and man up and I gave Churchill a nasty rattle that he’ll never forget.+

+What did Mad Jack do to piss you off?+ Von Kreiger inquired, very curious.

+Wrong Churchill.+ Divale pointed out.

The German sergeant stopped dead in her tracks. Sheer astonishment froze her in place as she processed what Aaron was trying to tell her. +Hold on. You’re telling me that you laid a hand on Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, the Prime Minister of The United Kingdom, one of if not the most powerful individual in the entirety of the Allied Command and the free world at large, and you’re still alive?+ Helga asked, her jaw dropping open.

+Hands actually.+ Aaron corrected. +And yes, I’m still kicking. He deserved it though, but it’s all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. He was right in the end.+ Suddenly, a series of massive freem for beam weapons shook the ground nearby as unseen Neuroi began firing somewhere off in the distance. Long crimson beams lanced through the high winds, lighting up a trail that vitrified grains into glass which stuck into the tops of the trench wall like darts in a cork board. +2130 on the dot.+ Divale observed. +Punctual bastards aren’t they?+

The echo of beamer discharge rang in Von Kreiger’s ears as she started to pick up the pace a bit more. +I hate saying this, but I’d rather be down there than up here. Less noise to deal with+ she admitted. A black shadow fell over her as a Cataphractii lumbered on by overhead, the gargantuan bulk of the legs stepping over the trench as easily as her foot could pass over the crack in a sidewalk. +But I don’t hate you keeping me hidden.+ she added, watching the Neuroi travel onwards into the gale and disappear.

+You’re welcome.+ Aaron replied. +You should be coming up on the main door to the fort now. Get as close as you can.+ Minding the sage advice, Helga continued briskly walking through the trench until the swirling desert sands began to lessen as a concrete overhang came into view. As she got closer with every step, more of the defense began to reveal itself. Atop the projection was a bunker, the barrel of an artillery piece sticking out like a telescope and beyond that was the top of the fort. Sandbags buttressed castle like crenelations, behind any one of which could be a machine gun nest, mortar, or sniper. Inside, the trench became a tunnel where on either side were slits in the stone so that the guards stationed just behind the walls could see and shoot down any intruders.

“The captain is back.” a voice announced in the covered dark. “Prepare to open the door.” To her credit, Helga didn’t flinch a bit, instead making a slight frown of annoyance to better portray the role. Soon, the German came up to a thick steel door with no handle whatsoever, a portal clearly intended to be opened from the inside. A metal slide was pulled, making a grinding sound, followed by the twisting of a handle. Before long, the door opened, bathing Von Kreiger in soft white light, temporary blinding her.

“Can someone turn the damn lights down?” she snarled in the captain’s voice.

“Y-Yes sir!” a frightened male voice answered. Immediately, the luminosity dimmed, revealing a rather scared group four of men near a signal light and alarm siren. Keeping a wrinkled lip, Helga strolled in, eyeing the gathering like an angry mother with her kids.

“Who said that?” Von Kreiger demanded. Nearly as one, three of the four men took a step back, leaving the poor unfortunate soul, a private, literally shaking in his boots. The tremors started to intensify, spreading to the face, making the corners of his mouth contort. She got up close to him and leaned in. “Next time you shine your lights at me when you know I’m about to come through that door again, I’ll put it and yours out permanently. Understand private?”

“Sir yes sir!” the private blurted, throwing up a sharp salute. Helga didn’t so much as return the favor, leaving the man hanging and traversing a small set of stairs that curved to the left. Absentmindedly, she took off her hat and casually dusted off a few stray sand particles. Rounding the corner, she nearly whizzed past a lieutenant who looked like he was waiting for her as she donned the cap.

“Captain Reichsmann?” the lieutenant stated, trying to get her attention.

Helga affixed the man with a cold stare and uttered, “What is it lieutenant? I’m a very busy man this night.”

The junior officer swallowed hard and began to explain, “Doctor Moretti wishes to speak with you on his latest developments sir. He’s at the central laboratory on level five.”

Letting loose an exasperated sigh, Von Kreiger nodded and stomped off mumbling as her boots sent a thunderous clop clop down the hallway, “He better say it in a language I can fucking understand. So sick and tired of his science speak.” As she left, she looked this way and that, taking a good hard look at everything the fort interior had to offer. Light strips ran along the center of the ceiling, wires thick as a weightlifter’s thumb snaking off in multiple directions towards generator rooms and communication arrays further down the way or in another passage altogether. The concrete reflected the light well, too well as it hurt her eyes the longer she looked at anything less than a gray shadow. At certain intervals, corners would jut out and wrap around, tell tale signs of defense points in case they were overrun. Very few people were walking through and, of those who traveled alongside her briefly, looked to be avoiding her like the plague itself. All the way down was the T, a section that featured the elevator in the exact middle with two bunkers, one overlooking the water and the other the city respectfully, on either side. Their steels doors were wide open, letting fresh air into the interior. As she neared the lift, the doors opened and two officers got out. They seemed to be engaged in a deep conversation, but as soon as they saw who was waiting to get inside, they stopped mid sentence and froze. Helga cleared her throat once and they instantly went off to the side. Without so much as acknowledging the fact, she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for level five. Once the doors closed, she chuckled.

+Having fun over there are we?+ Aaron quipped.

+It’s amazing.+ Helga beamed. +No wonder Rommel chose you to do this initially. You could fool anyone with this disguise.+

+Within reason.+ Divale replied. +So, eight levels in total and a laboratory on level five. This makes me nervous because we could already be dealing with something bad here. Like really bad.+

Helga cocked her eyebrows. +You get nervous?+ she asked, finding that claim hard to believe.

+Contrary to popular belief, I am human you know.+ the warlock retorted. The elevator started to slow down and he quickly added, +Alright. Find this Doctor Moretti and get him to open up. Hopefully he’s just standing nearby and will direct you to him or else we’re going to look pretty ridiculous.+ The elevator doors opened and Helga breathed a silent sigh of relief as no one was on the other side that she might bump into. Vacating the lift, she found herself in a narrow corridor with more subdued lighting, something her eyes found very pleasing. Walking along, Von Kreiger could see several colored wall markers in the shape of triangles at the corners of side routes. Each one seemed to lead to different sections of the fifth floor. One of them said in bold black lettering: CENTRAL FACILITY --->. +Well, isn’t that convenient?+ he pointed out.

+Yes it is.+ Helga agreed as she rounded the corner. +I just love it when the bad guys make it easy.+

+They’re not bad guys.+ Aaron stated sadly. +They never really were to begin with.+

The comment confused the sergeant. +What on earth makes you think that?+ she asked.

+In war, you willingly pick a side to fight for.+ Divale explained. +Here, they were brainwashed into following a false creed. Cult like in a way. It’s warped them all so bad that they would gladly turn their guns on their former friends and comrades without a second thought. No free will at all. Worse than slaves.+

+And that’s somehow different than what modern day politicians do?+ Helga countered.

+Politicians don’t capture people, rip their hearts out, and replace them with Neuroi cores.+ Aaron shot back, his voice raising an octave. +Fact of the matter is this isn’t what they want and I find no joy whatsoever in killing them.+

+Until I see evidence to the contrary, we’ll agree to disagree.+ Von Kreiger concluded firmly. It was then that the traffic began to get heavier. Men and women in white lab coats were traversing the corridor in large groups, talking softly among themselves and barely even taking note of the officer in their midst. Helga stuck to the right as best she could, even grazing the wall just to avoid accidental contact. The path took her around another labeled corner and she found herself at the tail end of a large windowed room filled with people clad head to toe in white full body protection suits, gas masks, and goggles. They were all vigorously working at all manner of scientific instruments, writing down whatever it was they observed onto clipboards or notepads at the work stations. Huge vents sat off towards the back of the laboratory, long metal pipes connecting them to another area, a containment unit, where boxes were stacked next to it. Some of the scientists were opening one and pulling out what looked to be an ordinary artillery shell. Helga squinted her eyes and a cold shudder went down her spine as she saw a yellow line painted on each and every one they gathered. +Oh fuck me! That’s mustard gas Aaron!+

“Ah Captain Reichsmann.” an Italian sounding voice observed. “You certainly wasted no time in coming here.” Von Kreiger regained her composure and calmly turned to the speaker. Further down the way, standing by a door that presumably led into the lab proper was a tall rake thin man around forty year of age. He held a clipboard in his hands and wore glasses with thick lenses that made his brown eyes look ten times bigger. His dark brown hair was all over the place, looking more like a rats nest than anything else, parts of his coif shining like diamonds from grease. Then the man started to walk towards her. “You looked quite disturbed by what you saw. Are you alright?”

“I wasn’t disturbed.” Helga gruffly replied with a slight curl in her lip. “I was rather perplexed as I see nothing that would indicate whatever momentous development you claim to have.”

“Not all advances in science can be deduced so easily.” the man countered politely. “But I do assure you that when I, Doctor Moretti say that there’s been a great development, you can rest assured that it is so.”

“Then spit it out.” Von Kreiger retorted. “I’m a very busy man who has a lot on his plate tonight.”

Moretti handed the clipboard he was holding to the German and began to explain, “Our recent shipment was much more easier to refine than the previous one. Not only that, but as you can see in the figures, we have successfully added another eight thousand gallons of liquid mustard gas within the last forty eight hours, all stowed away on level eight. Add that to the grand total, we have more than enough to wipe out those pesky Allies when the winds change tomorrow morning.”

Helga stared at the data in her hand, horrified by what she was seeing and hearing, but maintaining her cool. “Where do we stand in regards to the purity doctor?” she inquired.

Moretti put on a rather fearful face. “The age of the shell samples deteriorated quite rapidly and we couldn’t salvage enough to synthesize properly, what with the lack of supplies coming in due to the air attacks and all.” he stated.

“Still does not answer my question.” Von Kreiger reiterated firmly with a mean look. “What is the purity?”

“Seventy six percent.” Moretto reluctantly answered.

“Which means what in terms of successful dispersion?” Helga queried.

“A normal attack would be negligible in terms of casualties due to the impurities and the wind speed.” Moretti responded. “However, this is a full blown venting of all the gas we have. No matter the distance or wind speed, it will blanket all of the eastern part of El Alamein and up to five miles behind the front according to the projections.”

“I hope for your sake the projections prove true.” the German sergeant warned.

“Everything has been checked and rechecked.” Moretti stiffly replied. “No stone has been left unturned in that department.”

“And what of security?” Von Kreiger inquired with a raised eyebrow, handing the clipboard back to the scientist.

Moretti scoffed as he snatched his data back, “What of it? The elevator is the only way in or out and the two floors above it are fully garrisoned with round the clock patrols. No one and no thing is getting past that.”

“The first lesson I ever learned in my job is to never be complacent when it comes to safety, especially when we have reports that the warlock is here in El Alamein.” Helga emphatically stated.

The mention of the warlock made the good doctor’s face pale until it was the color of the concrete walls. “That monster is here?” he uttered in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Command has evidence that verifies this fact.” Von Kreiger answered. “Now, I have a job to do. If any of your friends are down there, I would like you to get them out. This inspection must not be hindered.”

“Of course captain. Right away.” Moretti said. With the conversation at an end, Helga turned on her heels and departed for the elevator. +Oh fuck us Aaron! Poison gas! We don’t have any gas masks! Hundreds of thousands of people are going to die! We have to do something!+ she ranted inside her head.

+And we will Helga. Calm down.+ Aaron assured. +While you were chatting up the doc, I got word out to Rommel. We have new orders: Blow it to hell.+

+So we need to evac before they start shelling.+ Von Kreiger assumed.

+Negative.+ Divale replied. +They don’t have enough artillery in position and anti bunker shells are in low supply. Plus, even if they did have it all there and ready to go, the fort is in such a way that focused firing is next to impossible to achieve. We’re doing this the old fashioned way.+

+Do even have something to do that with?+ Helga asked frantically.

+Oh I do.+ the warlock responded confidently. +It will be in your side pack shortly. Until then, continue to play the part. Oh God…. umph… come on now….+

Von Kreiger grew very nervous. +Aaron? Are you alright? What’s going on? You hurt?+

+Don’t worry about me.+ Aaron muttered painfully through what sounded like gritted teeth. +If you can’t take the pain, don’t play right?+

***************

The stall attendant looked at his watch impatiently. He’d been waiting at the last stall for the past five minutes, waiting for whoever was still in there to finish up and get the hell out so he could DDT the area and get some sleep. Grumbling, he knocked on the privacy door again. _Fuck me that stench is foul._ “Hurry it up will you!?” he called out. He breathed through his nose, a very bad decision as he audibly gagged, the remains of his dinner coming up his throat. “Mother of God man! You have a dead cat in there or what?!” he exclaimed, taking deep breaths.

“Fuck you asshole!” another inmate shouted from the other side.

The attendant ignored the other guy and came to a conclusion. _Fuck it. I’m not getting screwed over on my sleep because of some bound up jerk off._ “Like it or not, here I come.” he announced.

*****************

Helga quickly opened up the pack and searched for what Aaron simply dubbed ‘The M.O.A.B’. After a bit of sifting, her fingers clasped around something smooth and very cold to the touch. Biting her lip from the sheer frigid chill, she pulled out a glass vial the size of her hand and as thick as a summer sausage, crystal clear liquid sloshing about with wisps of gas swirling inside. +This is going to destroy the fort?+ she inquired with a note of skepticism. +This is the mother of all bombs?+

+And don’t you forget it.+ Aaron stated. +Please be careful with that stuff. It makes nitroglycerin look like a dumpy bridesmaid at a wedding.+

+What is it? Where do I put it?+ Von Kreiger asked.

+Anywhere will do.+ Divale replied. +As for what it is, I honestly don’t know. Many years ago, I snuck into a place much like this in Norway because we needed propellant for our bullets. I found this and boy oh boy does it propel. Just one drop was enough to make a pistol round hit with the force of an 88mm cannon shot. Problem was that the discharge velocity stripped the rifling. Going off those experiences, I deeply believe that this is more than enough to wipe this place off the face of the earth.+

Helga looked around for a place to put the vial. The room was large, but one wouldn’t know it because it was mostly taken up by a single massive metal gas cylinder that nearly grazed the fifteen foot high ceiling. A series of long pipes snaked from the left and right hand walls, connecting the insides of the tank to what one could only presume to be discharge vents. Pressure gauges were everywhere, all in the green. Getting down on her haunches, the German slid the glass tube underneath. +Is there a timer anywhere?+ she inquired, about ready to delve into her pack once again.

+I’ll take care of it.+ the warlock grunted. +Start evac procedures. Take the elevator to the first level and get inside the bunker that overlooks the coast. I’ll get you out, but you have to be in that bunker, got it?+

+Understood.+ Von Kreiger replied, getting up and jogging to the elevator. She slammed her left hand on the first level button and the doors closed. Gears and pulleys worked in unison and the lift began to climb up and up. +Have to say Aaron, this was very smooth.+ she observed, relaxing a bit now that she was out of that room.

+So help me God Helga,+ Aaron retorted, +if you jinx this…+ She was about to say something to the contrary, but the doors opened. In her way was a soldier armed with an MP40 and a stick grenade tucked into his belt. “Captain.” he stated with a salute.

Suddenly, the alarm sirens began to wail causing both of them to look around in confusion and panic. Movement past the man drew Von Kreiger’s attention. Looking down the way, a frantic man stared right at her. Recognizing who it was, he pointed his right hand and shouted, “That’s not the captain! It’s an intruder! Kill him!” The soldier turned his head to regard the informant. Instinct took over and Helga chopped the enemy in the neck hard. A snap from the spine told her that he wouldn’t be anymore trouble and the body started to fall, the connection severed. She grabbed the MP40 with her left hand and the grenade with her right. Pulling the pin with her teeth, Von Kreiger hurled the explosive to her right with all the force she could muster. Before it was even halfway down the the junction and through the still open door, she turned on her heels and made a mad dash for the left hand bunker and safety. Three men were watching the scene unfold, mouths agape in awe at such a display. Shock and disbelief froze them and Helga took full advantage by raising her submachine gun and firing on full auto. Detonation occurred behind her after the first few shots, the whoosh of air letting her know that the grenade went off. Her aim was true and two of the men were gunned down, torsos and necks riddled with bloody holes. The last soldier however, managed to get his wits back and ducked behind the steel door, narrowly missing a round into the skull by inches.

Von Kreiger saw the portal to her only way out closing rapidly, but she refused to give up. She quickly bridged the gap and led in with the shoulder, intent on barging through. Within seconds, flesh and bone collided with metal, the impact jarring and painful, but it was enough to knock the last man off his feet and send him into the ground of the bunker. Sidestepping into the spot he was forcibly vacated from, Helga simply sprayed the area, not needing to aim at this range. Crimson sprayed everywhere as the body was torn into by what remained in the clip. Footsteps started to get closer behind her and she swung the door shut and slid the lock bar across just in time. Angry yelling could be heard on the other side over the wind from the outside as weapon butts were slammed into the metal. +Slide through the gun slit!+ Aaron commanded. +Quickly!+ Obeying, Helga got on her stomach and began to crawl. However, as soon as she got her body squared off and barely a few inches into her journey, Divale intoned, +Capio Helga.+

Von Kreiger felt nothing and saw nothing, but something caused her to shoot out of the slit and into the swirling gale, hurtling through the sand grain infused winds and tumbling end over end. The shock of being suddenly airborne made her scream bloody murder. Looking down through the sandstorm as she rolled, the rocky ridge face came and went, land turned to beach, and beach gave way to water in seconds. Then, over the sounds of her cries and the whipping winds, a tremendous rumble. She craned her neck to look behind her just in time to see the rapidly shrinking fort and everything under it expand like like a balloon. Further and further it bulged and grew until the stress was too much to bear. With an explosion the likes of which Helga had never seen or heard, the diabolical fortification disappeared in a shaft of superheated air and fire, boulders the size of town squares flung into the air like they weighted nothing. The light was so intense that she closed them immediately for fear of becoming blind. +Get ready to make water fall in five, four, three, two, one.+ Aaron advised. Taking a deep breath and inhaling a few grains of sand into the bargain, she angled herself as best as she could for a dive. She entered water hard and fast, a rush of cold liquid splashing and then covering her face and body with moisture. Though her suit protected her from the shock of impact, her head took the brunt of the blow, the sudden temperature change nearly causing her to yell in pain. Thankfully, Von Kreiger resisted it successfully, not so much as a bubble coming out. Still speeding forwards, she found it hard to keep her eyes closed, the friction nearly ripping them open. Her chest was burning from a lack of fresh air. +Hold on and brace yourself!+ Divale ordered.

Not knowing what was going on, the sergeant did her best and soon fell on something hard and cold. The hit caused her to gasp hard and her body instinctively went into the fetal position. Breath after rapid breath came and went until Helga managed to calm down enough to open her eyes. The surroundings were blurry at first, but when her eyes adjusted, she was awestruck. All above her was water, aquatic life swimming past without a care in the world, but yet she could breath and wasn’t wet. The destruction of the fort still illuminated the night sky, casting a bronze like sheen on everything. What she landed on was a worn down slab of rock, scoured with tiny crevasses with dried coral popping out like grass. The air was dry and warm and ahead of her was a winding path that cut into and through another massive stone, the smells of cooked food and of a fire burning close by reaching her nostrils. The world darkened gradually and Von Kreiger looked back up only to see a concrete block the size of a tank drift sinking rapidly right on tip of her. Again, she screamed in terror, but when the debris got within fifty or so feet, it hit some kind of invisible barrier. The manmade fortification bounced off with a light conk sound that reminded her of someone setting a cup gently down on a metal table. Watching it tumbling away, the sergeant finally stood up not knowing where in the world she was, her wet hair dribbling seawater. “Hmm.” Aaron’s voice echoed somewhere in the distance. “I think I may have slightly overestimated how much we were going to need, but no matter. The job is done and I can finally get some much needed R and fucking R.”

“What is this place?” Helga called out, unsure where he was. “Where are we?”

“We’re around a quarter mile from the shore and five hundred feet underwater as you can see around you. Very interesting outcropping I found. Looks like there was something here once a long time ago. Anyways, I used a bit of magic to create a hollow sphere so I, and by extension you, had a place to weather the storm. You wouldn’t believe the amount of creepy crawlies I had to ferret out of here before it was even remotely presentable. We’re talking clams by the dozen, fish galore, crabs, a shark or two, and eels as round as a telephone pole, honest John. In a little bit, they’ll all make some fine eating if you’re hungry after all that.” Aaron informed.

“I feel like I’m in a snow globe.” Von Kreiger remarked, listening to the conk sounds as more and more pieces of the fort and ridge fell like clumpy black rain.

“Off to your left is a small fissure.” Divale pointed out. “Inside, you’ll find a package containing your uniform and a towel to dry your hair. Figured you would want out of that rubber suit and in something more comfortable. It was in rough shape when I got it so I took the liberty of mending it. I should have the measurements right, but if I don’t, I apologize beforehand.”

Helga looked left and sure enough there was a crack in the rock. Walking over and reaching in, she pulled out a cardboard box. Opening it, her eyes beheld a white towel tucked next to her full uniform, everything from her top to socks, even her shoes. _My God. It looks like it just came from the tailor._ “You really didn’t have to do that for me.” she commented as she unzipped her diving suit, blushing a tad.

“Well, you weren’t around and I was bored.” the warlock replied. “Besides, sewing is one of the few things that take my mind off most things that I’d rather not think about. When you get changed and dried off, come and sit for a while with me near the fire at the end of the path. Get something warm to drink while you’re at it too.”

Rolling her shoulders, Von Kreiger slipped off the top of the suit and pulled it down her chest, waist, and let it drop when it got past her knees, the black rubber falling to the stone around her ankles. Clad in nothing but her underwear, she lifted her feet out and kicked the saggy soggy rubber suit away. She pulled the towel out first and dried her hair, getting the cold wet sea off her head. _Ah… now that feels better._ Then, she got out her undershirt and socks and started putting those on. “Do you think the gas will disperse quickly?” she pondered out loud.

“Given how strong the winds have been, it shouldn’t take long.” Aaron theorized. “But if I know Rommel, he’ll take his sweet time in issuing an all clear. Gas is bad business and the last thing he wants is to jeopardize the operation.” He paused for a second and added, “I’ll tell you one thing: the man got really spooked when I told him about what was inside that fort.”

“And if there’s one, there could be others out there.” Helga stated, clearly worried while getting her boots on.

“Personally, I don’t think so.” Divale answered. “The distilling and synthesis operation was extremely well funded and provided for. Investment like that in wartime can’t be spread out; it needs to be concentrated. This was probably their best shot. Though you are right in a sense. We should be prepared for the worst which is why Rommel told me that he was immediately working on getting gas masks for everyone within the week.”

“Thank God.” Von Kreiger muttered as she looped the last button to her uniform top. She took a few lunging steps, swinging her arms in all directions to see if it felt stiff. It definitely wasn’t and the sergeant smiled. “It’s a perfect fit.” she called out, making her way down the path.

“Excellent.” Aaron remarked, seemingly proud of himself. “About time I did something right for a change.” Helga continued on her way to the fire, food, and drink that the warlock promised would be there. Traveling quickly, she traversed across the time and salt water worn stone, sidestepping holes and cracks. Coming up to the large rock, she saw that the current had enlarged a hole over countless centuries just wide enough for her to move through, though she did have to head in sideways. The heat and smell of the fire grew with each successive step until she got through to the other side and stepped into a large enclosed space, much like a jail cell. It made her shudder despite the welcoming warmth of the place. In the center was a recessed pit, piled high with burning stick and logs, the smoke billowing up into the air until somehow permeating the barrier protecting them into the sea, bubbles the only thing marking their passage. Over the fire was a radiator grill stacked with all manner of fillets and steaks on wooden skewers, cooking slowly over the flames. Two high backed chairs stood off to either side of the fire, close enough to be warm, but far away so as to be comfortable. In one of them, sitting down like some lord of the manor was Aaron, nursing a small glass of dark liquid in his right hand. He wasn’t in uniform, but clad instead in a bathrobe that looked like it was made from the pelt of a gigantic wolf. His eyes twinkled brighter than the hottest flames of the pit and the shadows played oddly with his features, making him look villainous yet weak at the same time. A five gallon bucket sat nearby his feet off to the left and before the German had a chance to say anything akin to announcing her arrival, Divale leaned over the bucket and vomited hard.

“You alright?!” Helga inquired, nearly sprinting towards him to see if she could help.

The warlock waved her off with an emphatic wave of his left hand. “Just the price I pay for being me.” he uttered nonchalantly, spitting the last dregs into the pail. He fished around in the folds of his fur robe and took out a cloth rag, wiping his mouth clear of the blood puke. Even though the fire could play tricks on the eyes, the sergeant could see that it had numerous vitae splatters all over it, looking more like piece of a polka dot dress. When he was done, Aaron put it back where he got it and looked up at the German woman standing before him. Cocking his head, he looked her over for injuries. “Looks like you made it out in one piece.” he observed, extending his left hand, palm open. “Great job.”

Perplexed, yet not wanting to be rude, Von Kreiger took the hand and shook it. _He’s being very very polite and is making eye contact with me. What caused this change? Is he coming around?_ “Why are you dressed like you’re ready to go to bed?” she asked, breaking the shake.

Divale chuckled as he took another drink from his cup. “Because I damn well am after this.” he replied. “To be honest, I didn’t get much sleep due to planning for the mission and all.” The explanation wasn’t completely true, but it worked in getting Helga to nod and sit down in the other chair right across from him. _Can’t really tell you why I’m looking like this. Ismenoth wanted some compensation for her work in keeping this all up. If you were a few seconds earlier in getting back here, you’d be seeing and hearing some very interesting noises. Bleh. I can still smell her on me despite airing this out over the fire._ He looked at the fish on the grill and stated, “They should all be good to eat now.”

Von Kreiger’s mouth watered as she took up a skewer of what looked like chunked calamari. She blew on the meat several times and bit into one of the pieces. It was juicy and tender, cooked to perfection. “Mmmm.” she hummed as she chewed and smiled. After swallowing, Helga inquired, “Where did you learn this trick?”

“Russia.” the warlock answered as he took up a shark steak laden skewer. Not even waiting for it to cool down, he ripped into it, absolutely wolfing it down, carefully balancing the mug between his legs while doing so. “Some say you should clean these things thoroughly before using them, but to be honest, I don’t mind the extra protein from the bug guts.” he said with his mouth full. Helga was about to take another bite from her meal, but stopped halfway when he said that. The briefest second on record went by before Aaron exploded into peals of knee slapping laughter. “Hahaha! Got you good there!” he roared. “Oh fuck me, you should’ve seen your face!” Suddenly, he stopped mid laugh as if he remembered something that she shouldn’t have forgot. “I apologize, but I did promise something good to drink.” he explained. He pursed his lips and blew two quick whistles. From the flames, a earthenware jug emerged from the side, rising into the air by magic. Reaching into his robe again, Divale pulled out another mug and the vessel hovered next to him. “A little concoction from our Italian friends.” he said with a smile as he poured her a generous portion and offered the cup. “Warm brandy with expresso, sugar, and fresh cream.”

Helga took the warm mug in her hands and took a tiny sip. The effect on her tongue was instantaneous. All the ingredients washed over her tongue and swirled through her mouth, complementing each other with just the right amount of sweetness, bitterness, creaminess, and bite of alcohol. “Whoa.” she breathed, looking down at the drink in her hands. “Were you a bartender at one time?” she queried.

“Briefly.” Aaron responded while pouring some for himself to top off the mug. “And you make nine.” he added.

The sergeant’s eyes bugged out for a split second and then drooped. _So that’s the reason. Just drunk as a skunk. I’m such a fool for thinking that he’d change just like that._ “You might want to slow down there cowboy.” she advised.

“I know I should,” Divale agreed as if he knew she was going to say something like that, “but these in conjunction with sleep deprivation utterly kill my give a fuck.” He took a deep draught and licked his lips clean of the alcohol. “Speaking of kill,” he began, “we have plenty of time to do just that. Mind shooting the shit for a while with me?”

Deep down, Von Kreiger didn’t really feel like conversing with an intoxicated warlock. _But there’s really no alternative._ “I guess so.” she answered at length. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything you want.” Aaron replied. “If there’s something you always wanted to know about me or just wanted to ask, say it and I’ll answer truthfully.”

Helga cocked her eyebrow and leaned in. “Answer anything truthfully?” she skeptically inquired.

“I did say my give a fuck is broken right?” Divale countered with a sly inebriated grin. Leaning back, the German tried her best to come up with a question to ask him, but with not much success, prompting the warlock to clear his throat and say, “I’ll go first. Normally my first question would logically be what did you do after Blatce, but I already know the particulars so-”

“Hold on.” Helga interrupted. “How would you know what happened to me?”

“When I cast sanguisuga, there was no direct contact between me and the captain’s corpse. I had no way of observing what was in his head at that time. There was an intermediary, namely you. In that instance, I had to go into your mind to get at his in order sift through it all. When that happens, channeling a spell through a proxy, natural memory bleed occurs where bits and pieces of your memories latch on to his and vice versa. So when I was organizing it all, I absorbed some of your memories into the bargain.” Aaron illuminated. He paused and looked down into the fire. “I know what your brother did to you Helga. The manipulation, the lies, the blackmail, the abuse, all of it. Boggles my mind how blood could betray blood that cruelly and shamefully. Crazier still was that you knew what was happening. So, my question has got to be, if you knew what he was doing to you and you clearly didn’t want this life for yourself, why on earth did you stay with him for so long?” he asked.

Von Kreiger swallowed deep and took a deep breath. “When father died, Hektor went into a strange place mentally. He became obsessed with finding out who did this. Didn’t trust the locals to conduct a fair investigation so he launched it himself, pouring over every shred of evidence that he could find. He wouldn’t eat or sleep for days at a time. During those times, he would get violent with anyone who did or said something that he found offensive to his father’s memory or to himself. Hurt a lot of people and it didn’t matter to him who they were. Villagers, his own men, even threw his own body down the stairs multiple times. Now, I told him and my father, when he was still alive, that I was leaving The Thirteenth Legion for good and I had the blessing for it. Seeing what Hektor had become, I grew scared for his life Aaron. He was all the family I had and I couldn’t bear leaving him like that. So I stayed put, figuring that my presence would help him get better.” she stated.

“Until he started to use your kindness against you.” Divale noted with a slight nod. “He twisted you to do his bidding.”

“Yes he did.” Helga admitted, the pain coming back in waves. “When I realized what he did, I was already in far too deep to get out. I was trapped. I was afraid that if I tried to leave that he would try to kill me.” The second to last word was the magic word that made her decide what question she wanted to ask. “How did my brother die? The guards at the prison I was at would only tell me that they couldn’t comment on continuing investigations, not matter how much I pleaded with them to tell me. I know that he was in that room when you walked in it and you were the only one who walked out. What did you do to Hektor?” she inquired.

At first, the warlock put his right hand on his head and let it slide down his face until his palm was over his mouth. He took a deep breath, eyes traveling from the flames to Helga’s face. “You sure you want to know?” he asked in a low voice through his fingers. His counterpart nodded without hesitation and Aaron answered after withdrawing his hand, “I ripped his face off with my bare hands and strangled him to death with it. I give him credit though. He didn’t get on his knees and beg for his life. Actually fought back though he knew he was going to die. But I don’t feel sorry for killing him one bit. Out of all the people that I’ve killed Helga, he deserved it the most for what he did to you, me, Lucretia, and nearly did to my wingman and the rest of the 501st.”

Von Kreiger listened closely to every detail and blinked only once. “That makes two of us.” she replied.

“Though you still have a picture of him?” Divale pondered out loud.

“As I said before, he wasn’t bad in the beginning, before this, before the war.” the sergeant countered.

“This is going to be a strange question but, do you mind if I see that picture?” Aaron asked, holding out his right hand.

The request made her uneasy, but Helga found herself reaching into her pocket and pulling out her flimsy leather wallet. Finding the photo, she carefully took it out and handed it over. Divale wrapped his fingers around the heirloom with care and looked at it. All three of the Von Kreiger’s were there, smiling, happy. _Everyone is cheery in these sorts of picture aren’t they? So many happy memories, good times. Oh Aaron… how many of them had pictures like this tucked away somewhere? How many of these people had memories just like this, thoughts that gave them comfort? How many had relatives that now grieve over their graves? How many Aaron? How many?_ “Too many to count. Too many to be forgiven for.” he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. As quickly as they appeared, he regained his composure and they were sucked back in. With a jolt, he gave the picture back to Helga and nodded in silent thanks. She took it from him and noticed that he was crestfallen.

“You okay Aaron?” she asked, putting the photo back in her wallet.

“Yeah.” he grunted while taking another long swallow of the coffee brandy. “It’s my conscience being an asshole, that’s all.” Divale looked up and saw that Von Kreiger had her head cocked to the side as if in deep thought or simply assessing him. “What?” he asked.

“You.” Helga answered. “When I first came here, you wouldn’t so much as look in my general direction, trying to act like I didn’t exist. Now, tonight, you can barely look away. I’m sure that there’s other things at play here, but it’s nice to see. In fact, you haven’t looked at me this long since-”

“That night.” they both concluded, one side reading the others thoughts perfectly. An awkward silence followed until Aaron took the plunge. “You don’t have to answer this next question of mine if you don’t want to but, why did you choose to sleep with me?” he inquired.

Helga exhaled slowly. “Oh boy.” she muttered under her breath with dread. “When the war broke out, people treated each other with warmth, compassion. They cared about their fellow man and volunteered to help them. Once things took a turn for the worse and the front started to creep up to our doorstep in Austria, it all went south. Everyone became cold and heartless. Neighbors stole from neighbors. Brother killed brother. It was anarchy. It killed me inside, seeing all that was good in humanity snuff itself out for the sake of self preservation. Didn’t matter who it was, they grew jaded. Even my own father who had the biggest heart in world in my eyes could barely say a kind word most days to me. When I saw you for the first time, I thought you’d be just like the others. But I was wrong about you. As you talked with my father, you had the look of someone who had genuine concern for those under and around him. Shocked me a bit for you were a soldier and used to being callous to such things. Your eyes gave you away to me. Later on when you and your men sat in those stables talking with each other on how to proceed, you looked sad, like you somehow felt alone even among friends. Thinking about it now, they did seem a bit unlike you. Was as if they were cut from the same cloth, but the pattern was different. That drew me in, made me curious. So when we got to talking, I realized that you were truly beside yourself, a man all alone on his own island with no one in his life that seemed to care. Once I realized that, my mind was made up. For better or for worse, I was going to be by your side that night. I remember it fondly, but the one thing that stuck with me even after all this time was, when we were done, you maneuvered yourself in a way that if something came into the stables with bad intentions while I slept, that you’d be between me and it. You would protect me in my most vulnerable of moments, no matter the cost to you. No man other than you made me feel that safe or that special. Thank you.” she explained.

The tears started to come back and Aaron’s lower lip visibly trembled. Streams of clear liquid flowed down his cheeks silently. “And for what it’s worth now,” he choked out, “thank you too.” The pair sat their for a good long moment, thinking about the past and the memories they shared. _And all this time, I though she only did it so that her father would have enough time to get in a position to snipe us. This is one of the few times that I’m glad I’m wrong._

“Since you know about what happened to me after Blatce,” Von Kreiger continued, “what happened to you?”

“No sooner had I washed my hands clean of Houska Castle, we were off towards Prague and Vienna. Fought there and pretty much everywhere else in Austria, Southern Germany, and France. Lost a lot of guys on the way, but we still fought hard. After Abbeville, we decided that there was nothing we could do to stave off defeat any longer and trekked on to Berlin.” Divale answered.

“You fought at Berlin?” the German sergeant asked, gawking at him in disbelief. Without warning, the warlock’s eyes flashed with anger and he slammed the bottom of his mug into the arm of the chair, the alcoholic coffee flying out like a geyser, spilling everywhere on the stone, the seat, or falling into the fire, hissing like a snake as it burned up. His other hand was in a fist, shaking with barely controlled fury and his face was contorted by rage, teeth bared and lips curling into sneers. Such an outburst caused Helga to rise quickly and get behind the chair in mortal terror. _What is going on? What did I say?_

As if he knew what she was thinking, Aaron seethed, “I don’t understand why people react that way when I tell them that I fought at Berlin. They seem to think that it was such a noble endeavor, something to be regarded as sacrosanct, referring to it in hushed reverent tones like the Holy Ghost itself.”

“It deserves to be.” Von Kreiger countered, finding her courage. “That battle helped stop them long enough for the rest of Europe to evacuate their forces. How could you say that it isn’t worthy? Why are you belittling Germany’s sacrifice?”

“Sacrifice you say?!” Divale roared as he got up from his chair. “Who said it was?! Give me the name!” Tense seconds went by and not a peep came from Helga who looked at him warily and the exit. “Didn’t think you had a name.” he stated with scorn. “But I’ll tell you this: those that said it was a grand sacrifice on their part weren’t there. I was, and I can tell you that that whole fucking pity party was nothing but a lie. A deliberate falsehood designed to garner sympathy so that they could milk it for all its worth later on when the war is over. And wouldn’t you know, they’ve duped everyone. Allied Command, their people, even you. But not me.” He took one small step forwards and leaned over the fire, looking deep into the flames before regarding Von Kreiger once again. “You want to know the truth?” he inquired firmly. The German nodded slowly and the warlock set his drink down by his feet and walked around the fire until it was between him and her. Spreading his arms wide, like some ancient storyteller, Aaron began his tale.

“Imagine yourself in Germany, the Siegfried Line, fall of 1943. You’re just a humble private on the tale end of his guard duty shift. The wind is cold and bitter and the overcoat offers little comfort. Holding the rifle by the wood so that you don’t freeze your hands off by touching the trigger and the rings around the barrel, you breathe it all in. Autumn is heavy in the air, but it’s hard to pick out from the sheer volume of scents inherent in the trenches. Your head turns to regard your surroundings, three long reinforced concrete lines that snake far off beyond sight, protecting the city of Berlin. You spot the bunkers, the pillboxes, the artillery emplacements, the mortar pits, the dug in Tigers and Panthers, and the scores of men that have shared the same living conditions and space as you for the last year and a half. Some you know well, others not so much, but there is a comradeship there regardless. Your peripheral vision encompasses a portion of your birth city, the pride of your nation, and perhaps the last hope for humanity. As far as you know, you and your family have always been here, roots deeper than any tree and foundations older than the cobblestones underneath the asphalt. Thoughts natural drift to them, your family. Questions whiz through your head. How is mother and father? Are your younger brothers and sisters okay. Have any of them got passage to leave in case the worst should come?

Worries abound, but you shake your head and steel yourself. Remember who you are and what you do you think to yourself. I am a soldier of Germany and I will protect it and those dear to me until my dying breath. Resolve makes you turn far off to the east, long past the desolate wastes of no mans land and into the darkness beyond. There lies the enemy, the Neuroi, a foe so numerous and powerful that they swept across Russia, climbed over the Carpathians, and burst through the Maginot. Clouds of abyssal black are both high and low, a fog of war so dense that even the light of God wouldn’t be able to shine through. The wind whistles in your ear and for a moment you think you hear the sounds of laughter, of thousands upon thousands of undefeated tongues looking in your general direction and making fun and light of your position and plight. It’s unnerving. They know you’re there and they can sense your fear. A shudder runs down your body as you try to purge the feeling, but it all in vain. If anything, it only seems to strangely grow in intensity. You reach out to grab something, anything to anchor yourself and do so. Yet, more and more you quake until you realize with shocking painful clarity that the tremors are not confined within.

Terror makes you step back. You can scarcely breathe, the revelation choking you into silence. That’s when you hear it, a deep rumble from under the earth, like the sound of thunder from the most terrible storm you could imagine. Sandbags quiver like Jello cubes and slide off the tops of the trenches and concrete starts to crack and split like dried skin. Sirens begin to wail and you register shouting, from you or someone else you do not know. In front of you, not even an arms length away, the ground heaves, turning into a walking monster of soil and rock. The dirt trickles off revealing a Cataphractii, dark and terrible, its massive cannons completing it’s charge and pointing directly at you. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no salvation from the imminent doom coming your way. All bodily functions shut down, your breathing, your heartbeat, your ability to move. The only thing you can manage is closing your eyes and uttering a quick prayer that the end comes quick. And then-” Aaron clapped his hands together, the sound making Helga jump. He then continued, “you wink out of existence, the only proof that you ever dwelt upon this earth a crater with wisps of ash floating upwards and away, overlooking the exact same situation being played out up and down the first line. The enemy piles up and over the first trench, Cataphractii leading the way, sticking their guns into bunkers, pillboxes, and mortar pits, blasting them into slag. Behind them are the Legionary’s, flooding the trenches like floodwaters. Bringing up the vanguard, The Strategos’ barrel their way through, crossing the devastation with impunity. Much further back, the enemy launches fighters, wave after sun blocking wave of black and red, raining crimson death upon all they see.”

Divale paused, collecting his thoughts as Von Kreiger looked on, horrified at what she was witnessing and hearing, but unable to turn away. “The first line falls within mere seconds and the second is close behind. They managed to hold for a bit at the third, but it too was overwhelmed by sheer numbers. In all Helga, all those soldiers with all the support you could every hope for, could only put up a nine minute fight. Nine fucking minutes. I can’t even get up, shit shower, and shave in nine minutes. It all happened so fast that the Germans couldn’t respond in time.”

“What happened next?” the German sergeant asked.

“Their generals knew that the city was lost and that committing any more forces would only weaken themselves further so they ordered all elements within Berlin to stand and fight, to hold til the last. They stood pat with reserves far to the west of the city and watched as it burned block by block.” the warlock replied, walking over and taking up his mug once again. “They figured that it would simply fold, that it would all be over soon.” he went on, pacing around the fire. Aaron looked back at Helga with a zeal that she’d never seen in them before. “But they thought wrong. Hour after hour went by, but the foe was checked and rechecked at seemingly ever turn. And by whom do you ask? It wasn’t the German military who simply stood on the sidelines, it wasn’t the poor bastards that abandoned their posts in an effort to get away, renouncing their oaths to protect their land and homes, and it certainly wasn’t the civilians who could do little more than huddle in their holes and pray that that the fury of the Neuroi would pass over them. It was the witches who stayed and fought. It was me and my men who stayed and fought. We held that city. We paid the ultimate price. And you know how much credit they gave them? None. Zip. Zilch. Nada. They fucked the witches out of their just due and contribution and showered it over their own, over those who did fuck all.” Aaron then sat back down in his chair, taking another gulp from his drink. “I’ve no clue who knows the real truth of what happened. I assume it’s classified, shared like some forbidden knowledge at the highest levels. As for the witches who fought there, it wouldn’t surprise me that they’ve been made to keep quiet, or even kept in the dark themselves. I did have a chance to ask when I was in England with the 501st, but I didn’t want to open up that can of worms. Better to let sleeping dogs lie. I wish I didn’t know the truth, but that’s what happens when you survive such things.” he stated sadly.

“Why do you say it like that?” Helga inquired. “Did you want to die at Berlin?”

Aaron’s reply was quick and blunt. “Yes.” he uttered with doubt in his voice, maintaining eye contact all the while. “Berlin was meant to be my last battle. Had it all planned out too. Found a few bombs at an aircraft factory that I wanted strap to myself and fly into them, taking as many as I could with me. But at the last moment, I was cheated of that glorious death that I wanted, that I deserved.”

“You don’t deserve to die.” Von Kreiger responded firmly. “Maybe who or whatever robbed you of that end did so for a reason.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my life Helga,” the warlock countered forlornly, “or whatever this pitiful excuse is. I wasn’t meant to make it past Christmas Day. I was slated for disposal because of how bad I was at being a weapon. It’s akin to graduating last in your class at West Point. No one wants to be the worst of the best, but that’s what I was. And we got busted out, they wanted me to lead them all in this grand adventure. I should’ve said no then and I would’ve spared myself the pain that was to follow. Yet like you, I was trapped. With so many pushing it on me, I had no choice. Early on, it wasn’t that bad to be honest. Yes, I had to deal with constantly being short of this and lacking in that and coordinating movements and strategies with the coterie commanders, but I always managed to patch things up enough so that we could keep on keeping on.

Then the bodies started to fall. Day and night, night and day I was given casualty reports. Every letter was like a knife in the heart when I read it. You are supposed to just see the names as just letters of ink on a page, but you can’t separate that when you know those names. They turn to faces which then turn into memories. Thinking of them gives you a jolt of joy that quickly turns into sadness as you know that those memories and that list with their name on it are the only things you’ll ever have left of them. Never again will you hear them called out during the din of battle or hear their laughter and encouraging words afterwards. They are dead, gone, and buried. Each one added to the pile on my shoulders hurt that much more with every passing day. Gradually, I grew sick of living, sick of living in a world gone to hell, sick of doing everything and more against the enemy, yet not having it be enough at the end of the day. I started drinking heavily long before I discovered women and it grew worse and worse.

When I ended up in France after Berlin, I was at rock bottom. For the first two days, I don’t think I went a full hour without breaking down and crying. Found a pistol with only one bullet where I crash landed and I had that thing in my mouth more than my meals. I can still taste the metal as I wrapped my tongue around the barrel, the acrid tinge of powder discharge. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t do myself in because I was weak. So one day I woke up and decided fuck it, I’m coming out of hiding. I’m not going to be this boogeyman that only comes out at night. It’s time to reveal myself. And I did, but the damnedest thing was, I wasn’t attacked, but welcomed. Dumb me added to the upside down situation by giving them a name: The Saint. Word spread and I found myself dragged off into their problems. Again, I had a choice to make, but it ended up being no choice at all due to my conscience and foolish hopes that maybe, just maybe, this will keep those dark thoughts at bay. What a fucking fool I was.

The sheer scope of human misery there was soul shattering. Gangs of slavers, bands of marauders, crooked locals who sold themselves and others out so they could take what the Neuroi left behind, and just trying to survive made Greek tragedies look like comedies. I had to kill people Helga and help them at the same time. With so much destroyed, I got swamped in trying to alleviate the agony. I built much of their communication networks, bases, transportation hubs, and strategies. They rewarded me of course, much to my chagrin and vehement protests. Money, ammunition, medicine, vehicles, fuel, water, food, even their own bodies. Every day felt like an eternity of anguish, debauchery, and depravity and I found myself immersed in that lifestyle. Yet no matter how many shots I sent downwind or down my throat, how many skulls and legs I split, or lives I lost and saved in operations in the field or on the table, it never could erase the feelings of helplessness and inadequacy that have plagued me for years. Nothing helped. It only made it worse.”

Aaron waved his hand at the fire again and the jug of alcoholic coffee floated to him. “For a brief time,” he added as he refilled his mug, “there was a shining light, a beacon of hope that I can get out of the rut I was in, a true angel.” His lower lip trembled with anger as he grabbed the hot container with his free hand, his flesh sizzling. “Yet like everything else that I‘ve ever loved and cherished it was taken away from me!” he shouted, throwing the earthenware vessel into the fire. It hit the radiator grill and broke into hundreds of pieces, the liquid inside vaporizing. Helga barely managed to get her hands up to protect her face from the heat, debris, and foul smelling smoke rising from the pyre. When she took away her arms and looked at Aaron, he was looking right at her, still as a statue. “Your performance in playing the captain was exemplary.” he admitted, downing the whole cup of alcohol in one go and casting it over his head behind him. “However, as fantastic as it was, it’s nothing compared with the one I’ve been working at for close to four and a half years. It truly is hard telling people with a straight face that they are right and you need to man up or that there is a silver lining in all this mess. Lying is difficult for me, not because I’m bad at it, but for how it makes me feel. I’m betraying their trust in me and I dare not tell them the truth for fear that they might hold that deceit against me. So I continue to fib and flub. My men, my friends, my squadron members, my wingman, even the woman I loved so much. No one was off limits.”

Divale paused and looked up at the barrier, high up above, shimmering like a desert mirage as tears started rolling down his face. “People like thinking that I’m some sort of saint, a paragon, an angel, or a pillar of strength. When deep down, all I am in the end is just a scared insecure sad kid who wants nothing more than to lay his head down to sleep one night and not wake up the next day, to not be in pain, to stop feeling afraid, and to finally know what it means to be at peace.” he choked out before clapping his hands to his face and sobbed uncontrollably. The warlock wept in darkness, his hands shaking as if he suffered from a palsy. In vain, Aaron tried to stem the flow, to hold back the hurt, but they just kept coming. Suddenly, he felt something wrap around around him, something warm. Pulling his hands away, he saw Helga sitting on the right arm of the chair, her arms looped around his shoulders and holding him close. Both turned their heads towards each other, tears falling like crystal rivers. Not a word was said for they were not needed. Von Kreiger let him bury his face into the space between her neck and left shoulder, rubbing his back with both hands as he let it out.

 _My God Aaron. My God. Why do you allow yourself to be like this? Why haven’t you gotten help? You need help._ “Aaron.” she stated softly. “I think you-” Her words were interrupted by a violent neck jerk from Divale who looked up and around like a meerkat scanning the savanna for predators. Suddenly, he rose up, almost knocking Helga backwards. Cocking his head to one side, he furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes as if trying to hear something.

“The coast is clear topside. We should move out and get some sleep.” the warlock stated calmly, his crying fit now over and done with. Von Kreiger tried to open her mouth to say something else, but he looked down upon her and placed both his hands on her shoulders. “I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “but I’m only going to do that when I feel like I need it. Not before or after.” Aaron paused and sighed. “Also,” he began, “it may feel like I give you shit, but in reality, I understand and respect what you’re trying to do here Helga. As much as I find it hard to fully forgive you and you to forgive me, you’re on the right track. Stay that course of redemption. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t Aaron.” Von Kreiger replied. _For me and for you._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 31st get a break, but Wilma forgets that it's her husband's birthday. Determined to give Edmund a proper day, she seeks the advice of her friends. Unfortunately, Elizabeth and Aaron have the perfect plan. Thievery, a wild goose chase, and a new spin on the phrase 'birthday bash' ensue, giving the Peterborough's a celebration that they will never forget

**_ **Chapter XI: An Officer And A Gentleman** _ **

**_ _ **

_Besides Adrian, Edmund is perhaps the second man I’d rather have by my side in a fight. Not because he’s terrible at what he does, but he seems to understand where I come from in some small ways. Can also put it down just as well as me too. If I was human, I’d probably be just like him, minus that ugly ginger hair of course._

Diary Entry January 1st 1944

Wilma sank her toes into the warm sand and sighed with pleasure as the sun shined brightly over the beach. The air was thick with the smell of the sea and sounds of the waves gently lapping against the shore. It reminded her of England and for a brief moment, she wondered how mother was doing. Minnie had been against her enlisting again when she got the letter and so was she. At the time, it make no sense to commit to a front that looked like some glorified vacation. However, Edmund got the same notice and didn’t have the same reaction, instead jumping at the chance. The two argued back and forth about it viciously for a good two hours before her mother intervened with some very important details. The matriarch had a lot of friends in high places and used her contacts to discover that Aaron had been tapped as well and was well over halfway there. _That settled it then and there. If he was going, something big was happening._ Eventually, the couple came to a compromise: If one went, the other would follow, not just because of a sense of duty, but also because she was sick and tired of being away from him for long periods of time. Edmund agreed and Minnie reluctantly gave her blessing.

Looking around the beach, Wilma was amazed that such a beautiful sight could exist in such a war torn landscape. _What’s even more amazing is that we’re being allowed to enjoy it._ After the battle of El Alamein, Rommel and Montgomery continued to push west. The destruction of the mustard gas refinery on Ruweisat Ridge during that windy night caused a massive cloud of poisonous vapors to roll over the enemy lines about halfway to El Daba before being carried over the Mediterranean and dissipating. With hardly any advance warning, many of the foe died, coughing up their lungs in bloody chunks or going straight into shock from the sheer pain caused by near full body skin blistering. Resistance was absent at best or light at the very worst. The number of bodies they encountered ran into the thousands. Fearing another ruse such as this, both generals came to the conclusion that a deterrent was necessary and sent word for gas masks to be delivered post haste. Supplies from British possessions in the Middle East were on their way, but they wouldn’t be able to arrive soon enough for the advance at that point carried them almost to the gates of Mersa Matruh itself. The 31st played key roles in securing the southern flanks, but the pace of the six day one hundred mile long journey was grueling, and Marseilles petitioned Neumann to tell Rommel that they were in desperate need of a break.

All had expected the general to ignore the request, but miraculously, or not given the caution and supply issues, he granted it and allowed them to take a full day off while reserve units began skirmishing against Mersa Matruh. Hanna decided to move the unit around ten miles east of Baggush along a strip of land that jutted out like a rose thorn where a gorgeous beach lay. It was hidden from normal view by two high cliffs, but once you got close enough, the land dropped away into a valley of paradise. The water was so clear and clean that if one were to look down from the sky, you could see dozens if not hundred of feet deep. Moreover, not even half a mile away, a one story inn was open for business. After carefully vetting the staff and stowing their gear in their respective rooms, the lieutenant ordered everyone to relax and enjoy themselves. Wilma obeyed the order in earnest, changing into her modest white one piece while Edmund donned his black SAS swim trunks, much to her dismay. _They’re so ugly and when they get wet they practically sag down to his rump. I don’t want anyone seeing my husband like that._

Thinking of him, she turned her head off to her left and gazed upon the reclining form of the man she loved, hands behind his head, looking askew of the sun with sunglasses over his face, grinning like an idiot as he baked on a white beach towel. “Mmmm.” he hummed as he readjusted his position. “This is the life right here.” He then turned his head towards her and added, “Lying on a beach with the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Wilma did her best not to blush, but couldn’t help herself. _You always know what to say to make me weak in the knees you bloody bastard. I love you so._ She leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “And don’t you forget it.” she stated firmly with a smile.

Edmund chuckled. “Not in a million years luv.” he replied. As Wilma stretched out before searching for another towel in the bag, he shook his head in wonder. _How in the hell did I get so lucky in finding a person like you Wilma? It certainly wasn’t my looks that drew you to me that’s for sure._ The captain heard raucous laughter as the rest of the squadron raced down the gentle slope towards the water. Elizabeth blazed past them first, a blur of white and red stripes on her top and bottom, followed by Amelie and Juliette in matching blue one pieces. Audie and Helga appeared next, not as fast as the witches, but still very keen on leaping into the cool waters. Murphy was in standard GI swim trunks with a draw string belt while Von Kreiger was in a black one piece. The size discrepancy between the two was so comic that if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that it was a mum with her child. The rest of the squadron fell in, looking like a street gang walking down a wide alley. Aurora was in a sky blue two piece, hands holding a parasol, and behind her were the Germans, all clad in matching black one pieces, holding the bags that contained towels, sunscreen, sunglasses, and reading material. Peterborough’s brow furrowed as he noticed that something was off and his mind came to the answer within a half second. _Hold on now… where’s Aaron?_ Sitting up, he set his sights on Marseilles and asked, “Where’s Lieutenant Divale?”

Hanna found a decent spot close by and casually responded, “Oh him? Well, we needed a few things from the nearby town in the east so I had him go and do a pick up. It shouldn’t take him long.”

The captain nodded in understanding and turned away, facing the water, and deeply thankful that he was wearing sun glasses. _Now that puts me right the hell off. We have one day away from the front and you’re having him waste most of it on a useless errand?!_ His upper lip stiffened and Edmund began to move his right thumb over the index and middle fingers of his right hand, going clockwise for a full two revolutions before switching over to counterclockwise. Wilma saw it and knew right away that he was not happy with something. “Darling?” she softly inquired. “What’s wrong?”

“Look around Wilma.” her husband instructed, darting his eyes to and fro. “Tell me what you don’t see.” She did so and detected the same glaring absence.

“Where is Aaron?” Wilma pondered out loud.

“The lieutenant had him run into that town off to the east for some supplies.” Edmund scoffed bitterly, his fingers moving faster and faster.

“Well, maybe she felt that we needed something important.” Wilma offered, trying to calm him down.

“That’s utter bollocks Wilma.” the captain gruffly replied in a low voice so that others wouldn’t overhear their conversation. “Before we got sent away, I made damned sure that we had everything stocked up that we could possibly need. Ammunition, comms, water, food, everything. There’s no way we can be lacking in something important.” He leaned in close and whispered in his wife’s ear, “If anything, I think she’s trying to screw him out of having some deserved time off and I have half a mind to call her out on it.”

The other half of the Peterborough’s quickly pleaded, “Edmund don’t. Aaron can take any spite she can dish out. He doesn’t need us fighting his battles for him. If you, me, or anyone else steps in, it will just add to the problem.”

“But you have to acknowledge that what she’s doing is wrong.” the captain countered vehemently. “Ever since we’ve got here, she’s been making his life unbearable. You remember what happened after Dongola right? Marseilles blamed him for the deaths of those British soldiers that went in with him and Rudel and for the escape of the enemy witches. That not right. What happened was not his fault, hell, even Montgomery took him aside and said as much. There’s been no valid reason as to why she’s doing this.” He then placed his left hand over her left, their wedding bands touching. “Someone’s got to do something and if not me or you, who and when?” he stated.

Pottgen watched the couple with a wary eye as she tried to write in her journal. As per Rommel’s orders, she’d been chronicling the daily events of the squadron, sending them along secured channels to the press so they could publish them. “Just how much have you written in there Rai?” Hanna asked as she brushed her long blond hair.

“Quite a bit actually.” the pilot officer admitted, dipping her quill pen into the ink well by her side. “Everything from when the rest of them came into the squadron up to now. I’m amazed that I’ve haven’t run out of the ink I use.”

The lieutenant put her brush away and took out a pair of sunglasses from the bag. “Well if you every do run out or low,” she declared, donning the shades, “be sure to let me know and I’ll have Lieutenant Divale fetch you some.”

“Speaking of the lieutenant,” Raisa brought up, “did you really have to send him out for those things. I mean, we really don’t need them.”

“At the end of the day, what we do and don’t need is my call to make.” Marseilles curtly replied. “And that is that.” She laid down on the towel and soaked up the sun’s rays. However, it wasn’t just the warmth that made her feel good. _Being on a well deserved vacation without the likes of him around to ruin it is the best combination a person like me could ask for. Ever since he came here, he’s been a magnet for trouble. Plus, he’s getting way too much recognition for his own good. That praise should be heaped on me not him. Whatever Hanna, enjoy the day. That errand you sent him on will take him hours just to get done with._

“What is what?” a masculine voice asked curiously from behind her. That broke Marseilles out of her happy place and she whipped her head around with a mix of surprise and confusion. Standing a few feet away from her, holding a huge bag in his right hand, four beach umbrellas tucked under his right armpit, and a cooler in his left, was the man himself. Aaron was in his swimming trunks, jet black with red lines along the sides and a white cord belt. His old wounds had healed, adding more to the gratuitous amount of scar tissue on his chest. The wind picked up and flicked around his dark hair, the ends getting rather long.

Still in a state of shock, Hanna scrambled to her feet and gawked at Divale. “How the hell did you get back here so fast and without me noticing lieutenant!?” she demanded.

“By being a quick and sneaky bastard Lieutenant Marseilles.” the warlock replied. “You could almost say it’s magic.”

“Did you get everything we asked for?” Pottgen inquired, eyeing the bag and umbrellas.

“Indeed I have.” Aaron answered confidently. “Beach umbrellas, spare sun screen, and I though I know it was not on the list per se, I took the liberty of purchasing cherry snow cones for everyone, my treat.”

“Ahem.” another female voice uttered behind him. “And what about me?” All three members of the 31st regarded the speaker. With hands on her hips and putting on a rather indignant face, Tatiana Nabakov stood off to the side in a vibrant red two piece swimsuit with yellow trim , her long blond hair in a pony tail and secured with red ribbon.

“Thousand pardons.” Divale apologized. “And we also have a distinguished guest.” His remark mollified the irate Russian who then smiled.

 _Over my dead body we do lieutenant._ “Who is she?” Hanna queried in a stern tone, though she already knew who it was.

“I’m Tatiana Nabakov.” the soccer star proudly declared, extending her right hand in welcome. “Ex-star of the Russian national soccer team and newest German national team acquisition. Pleasure to meet to you Lieutenant Marseilles.”

“Civilians aren’t allowed to mingle with military personnel unless the commanding officer says so.” Marseilles stiffly responded, refusing to shake the Russian’s hand. “Do yourself a favor and get transport out of here. You’re not welcome.”

“I can’t do that because I’ve been assigned here.” Tatiana countered, doing her best to keep her cool after enduring such disrespect. She reached into the bag that Aaron was holding and pulled out a sheet of paper, offering it to Hanna. “In accordance with my duties as a goodwill ambassador, I’m to travel along with the main force and improve morale through visits that are sanctioned by General Rommel himself. Every unit gets a turn and today is yours.”

Hanna snatched the notice from her hand and passed it along to Raisa. “Is this even remotely genuine?” she muttered under her breath.

Pottgen held it in front of her face and did her best to hide her sheer disappointment. _I told him to make it believable. This is such a piss poor attempt at forgery that I can smell the fake from here. God damn, even the raised seal isn’t here. Fucking hell Aaron._ She took a long hard look at the warlock and his lady friend in turn, seeing if they could manage to continue to play their parts in the scheme. Both of them kept cool and somehow displayed some modicum of confidence. The pilot officer took another gander at the order, gave Aaron a quick wink, and addressed Marseilles. “It’s all in order Hanna.” she simply said, folding the paper and placing it back into the bag that Aaron still held.

The lieutenant grimaced in defeat as Raisa took an umbrella and two snow cones from the warlock. “Very well Ms. Nabakov. You may remain here, but this goodwill mission of yours better be for the benefit of all or I’ll make sure that this will be your first and last trip here.” she remarked, waving her away. The two wasted no time in beating a hasty retreat, walking off to the right section of the beach. Such a maneuver caught everyone’s attention and one by one they packed up their belongings and slid on over to the pair, leaving just the two Germans by themselves. Marseilles clenched her fists hard, the knuckles cracking.

“He did get everything we asked for.” Pottgen reminded as she offered a cherry flavored snow cone that was red as a ruby. “And besides, we even got free snow cones on his dollar. Win-win.”

Hanna sighed in annoyance and reluctantly took the frozen treat from her friend. “I guess.” she admitted as she took a bite of the shaved ice. _Doesn’t mean I have to like it._

Tatiana watched the two witches out of the corner of her eye and shook her head as she and Aaron walked away from them. “Yesli by ya otkryl slovar' i posmotrel opredeleniye slova «vlagalishche», ya pochti uveren, chto yeye fotografiya budet predstavlena na risunke A (If I opened the dictionary and looked up the definition of the word cunt, I’m pretty sure that her picture would be Exhibit A).” she hissed under her breath.

“Meditsinskim rabotnikam vo vsem mire yest', chto skazat' po etomu povodu (Medical practitioners the world over might have something to say about that).” Aaron retorted calmly. “Ne bespokoysya o ney. Raisa na nashey storone, a Khanna takaya zhe nadoyedlivaya, kak komar s podstrizhennymi kryl'yami. Eto nichego, s chem ya ran'she ne stalkivalsya (Don’t worry too much about her. Raisa is on our side and Hanna is about as bothersome as a gnat with clipped wings. It’s nothing that I haven’t dealt with before).”

“Yeshche (Still),” Nabakov countered, refusing to let the mater drop, “vy dolzhny dat' otpor. Ne dostavlyayte suke udovol'stviye ot unizheniya vas (you should fight back. Don’t give the bitch the satisfaction of humiliating you).”

“Zachem izbivat' yeye, kogda ona sposobna sdelat' eto sama (Why beat her up when she’s perfectly capable of doing it to herself)?” Divale conjectured as he stopped and started to put down his newly acquired bounty. He took up one of the umbrellas and shoved it deep into the sand. No sooner did he angle it just right than Aurora, out of seemingly nowhere, slid underneath the newly created shade. The sand cloud she kicked up was massive and Aaron had to unfurl one of his wings just to whisk it away.

“Oh thank God.” the Finn exhaled, lying down on a white towel. “That parasol wasn’t doing anything for the sun. I swear, when this war is over, I’m not going further south than Copenhagen. This heat can go fuck itself and die in a ditch.”

“I didn’t go on a fetch quest just to come back and watch a drama play out you know.” the warlock stated, retracting his wing and going back to the business of erecting the other two umbrellas close by. “I also got snow cones if you want one and some extra sunscreen that won’t look like red velvet cake mix all over your face.”

Juutilainen’s jaw dropped and she hastily ripped open cooler and pulled out a frozen treat. “And they’re cherry!” she exclaimed, sticking into her mouth. “My favorite!”

“Looks like the gangs coming in.” Nabakov remarked, gesturing with her head towards the left. Aaron stabbed the earth with the last umbrella pole and regarded the miniature wave of people walking briskly towards the trio.

“Long time no see.” Edmund observed. “When I saw that you weren’t here, I feared the worst.”

Divale waited until he set his stuff down before extending his right hand, palm open. “She’s not going to get rid of me that easily.” he replied.

“And thank God for that.” Helga chimed in as she laid out a towel for herself. “You deserve this break just as much as we do.”

“Personally,” Rudel commented as she took up a snow cone from the cooler, “I’d rather be on the front lines right now. I can enjoy this when the battle’s over.”

“You shouldn’t be on the front all the time.” Murphy pointed out while stretching his arms. “All that combat winds you up like a spring and if you don’t release the tension, you snap.”

“Regardless, let’s enjoy the sun an relax.” Wilma piped up as she put on a pair of sunglasses.

“A-fucking-men.” Divale replied. Looking over the group, he counted silently to himself and noticed that the number was off by three. “I take it that Elizabeth, Amelie, and Juliette are in the water?” he asked. Suddenly, someone called out his name far off out to sea and the warlock turned his head to find three arms waving at him. Not wanting to be rude, he waved back and gestured for them to come up and mingle for a bit.

Off among the waves, Planchard started to swim towards shore, but stopped when she saw another woman that she didn’t know. “Who’s that?” she asked Juliette.

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be Tatiana Nabakov.” Deveraux answered after squinting her eyes.

“Not to mention the luckiest woman in the world right now.” Beurling grumbled, clearly not happy with the situation.

“What’s up with you all of a sudden?” Juliette inquired.

“What’s up?” Elizabeth reiterated with a glare. “What’s up is that I had a plan to get him right where I wanted him and f-”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong here but, don’t you think that would be a bad idea?” Amelie pointed out. “I mean, there are rules against that sort of thing between enlisted personnel.”

“Oh come on,” the Canadian bellyached, eyes rolling in the back of her head, “everybody knows that rule is basically unenforceable. I mean for Christ’s sake, look at them.” Elizabeth pointed her right arm in the direction of Edmund and Wilma reclining on the same towel. “That there is a husband and wife combination and not a peep has been heard from the regulation police.”

“You honestly think he’s worth it?” Juliette pondered. “He’s definitely changed from what I remember of him.”

Beurling gawked at the French witch and mimed wearing glasses by making circles of her wet hands. “You have a pair of these right?” she quickly mocked after taking them down. “That is prime triple A man with a capital M.A.N. Ever since I laid these peepers of mine on him, I wanted him. I wanted him so bad that I had to have a towel under there just so I wouldn’t leak whenever he walked by. Besides, I’m not going to marry him, I just want to give him a good time.”

“Well it seems that you have strong competition.” Amelie observed. “Take a look for yourself.”

Elizabeth whipped her head to to the beach and saw Aaron rubbing sunscreen on Tatiana’s back slowly, the Russian obviously enjoying herself. _Oh it’s on bitch._ “To hell with it.” she decided. “I’m going to go over there and show that warlock what he’s been missing out on.”

Nabakov could barely make out the three conversing women in the water as she felt Divale’s strong hands all over her back as he rubbed the sunscreen into her skin, her body rocking forward and backward with every movement. “Mmmmm.” she moaned loudly. Suddenly, she felt a finger loop under her top strap in the back and was gently pulled backwards until her right ear came with an inch of Aaron’s mouth.

“Sokhrani eto na potom (Save that for later tonight).” he cooed in a low voice. Apparently, Aurora heard it and given how close she worked in tandem with Russian units over the years, knew exactly what was said. Blushing, she turned away and placed her right hand on her forehead. _Good Lord Aaron. Right under the lieutenant’s nose? You’ve got some balls._ “You okay over there Juutilainen?” he asked in a sly voice that made it clear that he knew why.

“Of course!” Aurora blurted out. “Just a bit of brain freeze. Ahh! Guess I ate too fast.”

The warlock chuckled to himself and asked Nabakov, “You want to get my back now?”

“Sure.” Tatiana replied as she got up and moseyed on around Aaron’s frame. She sat down right behind him and took the bottle of lotion that lay next to his right side. Nabakov squeezed out a generous portion into her left hand and began to apply the thick white gel like substance. As she kneaded it into his back, she couldn’t help but notice that his musculature was very tight, almost as if he was tense. “Are you alright Aaron?” she asked with concern.

“Yeah, why?” Divale queried, not seeing anything wrong.

“It’s like I’m rubbing rocks.” Tatiana remarked. “Are you very stressed about something?”

The warlock shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Just a lot on my mind.” Two bodies broke up through the water and both Amelie and Juliette crested the waves and waded to shore. By the time they got up to where they could talk to him, another figure emerged, this one much slowly. Cocking both his eyebrows from behind his sunglasses, Aaron beheld Elizabeth taking both her hands and running them through her hair, letting it fall back, water dripping like crystal diamonds from her arms and scalp. “Hmmm.” he grunted. “Stripes do suit you, but shouldn’t a proper Canadian be wearing flannel?”

“Suit me like how Aaron?” Beurling inquired with a devious smile, taking measured steps toward him. “Could you elaborate?”

Divale stroked his chin with his left hand and gently bobbed his head side to side, pondering all the while. “They contrast well with your skin tone and really do bring out your hair and eyes.” he replied honestly.

“What about in the light?” Elizabeth asked bending forwards a bit with her arms crossed, accentuating her bust as much as possible.

Nabakov did not like what was transpiring before her man and narrowed her eyes. “Kakogo khrena ona dumayet, chto pytayetsya sdelat' (What the fuck does she think she’s trying to do)?” she hissed softly.

“Igrat' v igru (Play the game).” Aaron answered with a whisper. Turning his attention back to the Canadian practically begging for attention, he responded to her question with, “Would it be alright if we answer that a little later? I really want to work on my luscious tan and I can’t really well do that in the shade.”

“I would if I could, but I just love the sun on my skin.” Beurling politely rebuffed. “Though I could do so for the right price.” she added.

Divale calmly readjusted his sunglasses. “What would you like?” he queried, intentionally leaving the question open ended.

Elizabeth’s heart beat that much faster in her chest. _Ladies and gentleman: We got him._ Licking her lips seductively, she crouched down into the space between Aaron’s legs and took off his shades. “I would very much like a kiss Lieutenant Divale.” she announced as she folded them up and placed them on the sand next to her. To add emphasis to her demand, Beurling used the first two fingers on her right hand and crept up his left arm like a spider.

Tatiana may have been miffed before, but now she was royally pissed off. She made a move to grab the witch’s arm and break it, but Aaron averted that move with an ever so gentle squeeze with his right hand just below her right knee, a gesture that made it obvious that he had it under control. “Well then,” he declared with confidence, “if a kiss is all you want, then a kiss is what you will have.”

Dead silence and dropped jaws reigned as the import of those words traveled from his mouth into Elizabeth’s ears. She processed them quickly, but could not respond whatsoever. _Oh shit! I did not expect him to say yes! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! What do I do!? I can’t back out and I can’t go forward! Shit!_ That was when Aaron pounced, placing just his left index and middle finger under her chin, applying no pressure whatsoever, yet locking her head in place. He looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be gentle.” Beurling could barely breathe at how nervous she was. She couldn’t move a muscle as the warlock crooked the fingers, bringing her face closer and closer to his. _It’s like I’m hypnotized. I can’t move._ Closing her eyes, she puckered up and waited for the kiss. _Oh God! I can’t believe this is happening! Is this real!?_ Suddenly, Elizabeth’s lips touched something smooth, but hard and definitely not a pair of lips. Whatever it was entered her mouth so fast that she nearly swallowed on reflex. Then, her taste buds detected the distinct flavor of chocolate. Finally opening her eyes and digging into her mouth with her right hand, she pulled out a now partially masticated Hersey Kiss candy.

Dumbfounded, Beurling looked back up at Aaron and said, “I thought you were going to give me a kiss.”

“And I did.” Divale answered admist peals of laughter from the group. “You should’ve specified. Not all kisses involve lips you know. Now scoot over.” To help her on her way, the warlock softly tipped her over with the flat of his left leg into the lap of Rudel who nearly spilled the remains of her water canteen. “And you’re welcome for the gift.” he added with smile. The last word of that statement made him remember something quite important and he turned over to Wilma and inquired, “Do you mind if me, Audie, and Tatiana borrow Edmund for a bit?”

The captain looked up from his towel and cocked his eyebrow. “What’s your angle you scheming bastard?” he asked.

“Just wanted to talk about something.” Aaron replied as Nabakov finished up lotioning his back. “We’re only going to go a little bit towards the other side of the beach. That’s all.”

Suspicious, Peterborough gazed upon his dear wife and stated, “All on you luv.”

Wilma thought hard about it and decided that there was no harm in it considering they weren’t going to disappear. “Alright Aaron. He can go, but if I see any funny business, I’ll show you why he asked me for permission.”

“And she will too.” Edmund heartily agreed as he sat up and got on his feet. Murphy got up and Aaron fished around his bag and pulled out a small wrapped package. The Russian quickly interposed herself between the curious bundle and Edmund’s gaze and together they waltzed on towards the left hand side of the beach, leaving the rest of the squadron alone to merely conjecture on what was going on.

For her part, Beurling was doing nothing of the sort, instead lying on her back stewing as the candy melted in her mouth. Hanna took another quick swig from her canteen before offering to her wingman, quipping, “Would you like some water to help quench that thirst of yours?”

Elizabeth sat up like she fired from a cannon, grabbing Hanna’s shoulders and ranting, “I was this close! So fucking close! I had him right where I wanted him and he wiggled right out of my grasp!”

“Oh bullshit.” Helga remarked from the other side. “If anything he had you. You played right into his scheme and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

The Canadian was about to retort something fierce, but realized that maybe she was right and instead adopted a different tactic. “Speaking of him having me,” she began, “you had him if I recall correctly, am I right.” Von Kreiger didn’t answer, but it was enough of a response for Beurling to ask, “How on earth did you get him? What was your secret?”

“Honestly?” the German inquired with a cocked eyebrow. Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically to where now Helga felt compelled to explain, “I asked.”

A stunned silence held sway for several seconds before Beurling cocked her eyebrows and queried, “You asked?”

“Yes.” Von Kreiger replied. “I wanted to sleep with him, I asked, and he accepted.”

“Now I call bullshit on that.” Elizabeth countered, not believing her for a second. She turned to Wilma who had her back turned away and asked, “What do you think?” Wilma honestly didn’t hear the conversation between Elizabeth and Helga or anything else for that matter because her eyes were glued to the mysterious package in Nabakov’s hands. She scarcely breathed as her mind came to a terrible conclusion, a revelation that made her gasp and place her hands over her mouth. _Oh no! It’s Edmund’s birthday! I completely forgot!_ Then, he felt a gentle tap on her right shoulder. Turning her head, she saw the concerned face of Beurling who apparently took it upon herself to see what was the matter. “You okay Wilma? You’re acting a bit strange.” she asked.

“I can’t believe it.” the British witch muttered through her fingers. “I actually forgot that it was Edmund’s birthday today. I’m such a horrible wife.”

Elizabeth’s reply was one of shock. “You forgot it was his birth-” she began to shout, eyes bugging out. but Wilma quickly covered the Canadian’s mouth with her hands for fear that her husband would hear.

“Shhhh!” Peterborough hissed. “Not so loud damn you!”

“I take it that this is the first real birthday you’ve celebrated as a couple?” Aurora inquired, making it clear that she had overheard.

Wilma looked over the group and realized from the looks she was getting that the cat was out of the bag. Sighing, she stated sadly, “Yes it is. It just slipped my mind. With so much happening over the last few weeks I forgot.”

“Looks like Aaron didn’t.” Juliette added. “Do you have anything that could double as a gift later on?”

Wilma shook her head. “I’ve got nothing at all. There’s been no time to get anything, what with the blisteringly fast offensive and all.” she responded. Looking down at the sand, she felt tears of shame almost coming out. “This is so terrible. I can’t believe that I would forget something like this.” she choked out.

Amelie swooped right in and gave her fellow squadron member of hug of solidarity. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” she advised, trying to make her feel better. “There will be plenty of birthdays down the road. You can make it up later.”

“It wouldn’t be so much of a problem if it wasn’t the first.” Wilma countered, a single tear flowing down her right cheek.

“Dry your eyes and leave it to us Wilma.” Rudel ordered politely. “We’ll think of something.”

“That and it doesn’t have to be a gift.” Helga added. “You can also have a night to yourselves walking along the beach, or a picnic dinner.”

“Or,” Beurling suddenly chimed with a devious smile on her face after snapping her fingers, “you could also try this.”

Murphy took a look behind him as the group walked towards the other end of the beach and furrowed his brow at the sight of all the women coming close together. _It’s like they’re sharing a secret of some kind._ “What do you think they’re talking about back there?” he asked, gesturing with head.

“Probably the same things we talk about.” Edmund suggested, not actually caring in the slightest.

“Oh,” Tatiana jokingly quipped, “so you men talk about how nice your butts look in your trunks too?”

“That does happen from time to time believe it or not.” Aaron stated while coming to a halt. “Especially when you have to sew things back up and you’re not the best tailor int the world.” The group soon stood around and Divale turned his attention who Edmund. “You remember what happened that night in the pub after you all got me out of France the first time?” he asked.

“Mostly.” Peterborough admitted, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “Why do ask?”

“I seem to recall that you said you were somewhat of a collector of certain SAS cap patches.” the warlock elaborated.

Audie’s eyes regarded Edmund. “You collect patches?” he inquired.

“It’s not really a hobby, but rather a labor of love and remembrance.” Edmund answered. “When I joined the SAS, I imagined myself being a career soldier. Everything about the life was perfect. You got to make friends, travel the world, fight the good fight for king and country, no real drawbacks unless you count getting shot at from time to time. When I met Wilma and later married her, I began to have second thoughts. Before, I only thought of my future, but with her in the mix now, I realize that what I think is best for me is not the best for her and likewise us. When this war is over, I’m going to retire, but not before I make it a point to gather up all that I can to remind me of what I once had. So, I collected our unit cap patches. There are five units within the SAS brigade proper. I’m part of the British 1st. Our sister unit the British 2nd precedes the French 3rd and 4th and the Belgians make up the 5th. I managed to get all the patches except for the Belgian one because they took it upon themselves to stay behind and continue holding the port cities. Their last known transmission came from the town of Moelhoek about five days before the Dunkirk evacuations. There was a glimmer of hope that they would make it out, but when the last boat arrived, they weren’t there. Thus passed my only chance to get the last patch.”

“Now I don’t remember much of what else occurred that night, but I did state and I quote that ‘I would get it for you’.” Aaron pointed out. Tatiana then presented him the wrapped gift and he gently took it from her hand. “I’m many things Edmund that I’m not proud of, but what I am proud of is being a man of my word to my friend, especially those who’ve undoubtedly saved my life. Happy birthday young man.” he announced with a genuine smile. Edmund took the package and unwrapped it. The paper fell away, taking by a gust of wind that took it over the water and behind the rocks. Revealed to all was a thin blue cardboard box, not too dissimilar to one that medals were carried in. Peterborough opened the container and his heart skipped a beat. Resting comfortably, as if it were made with its exact dimensions in mind was the last missing piece to Edmund’s collection: the long thought lost 5th Belgian. The badge was worked in the shape of a shield with a flaming sword pointed downwards. Spanning from near the tip of the blade was a long ribbon banner with the words Who Dares Wins. Not a single frayed thread could be seen from the anywhere.

He stared at it wordlessly, shaking his head in astonishment. “My God.” the captain breathed in a voice that sounded more like one used in a church than an improvised gift exchange. “I can’t believe it. I never thought in a million years that I’d actually be holding this. Aaron, where on earth did you get this?”

“As my old unit made its way to Berlin, we came across that town you mentioned, Moelhoek. We holed up there for a quick breather and I went out for a walk just to stretch my legs. I really wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings and I happened across a funeral service. A group of men, didn’t know who they were at the time, were standing in front of a casket. One of them comes up to me and asks if I’m a priest or knew of one because the one who was supposed to give the blessing and later the prayers had died that morning of a stroke. Recognizing that they were in a bind, I told them that yes I’m a priest and could give the Lord’s blessing. I do so and after the body was buried by the deceased fellows, I was presented with that patch. When I asked them why they gave this to me, they answered that you embodied it. Afterwards, we soon left and that patch managed to survive the fires of Berlin and I’ve kept it at Pont du Hoc since then. When you told me that you collected these sorts of things, I knew what I had to do. Originally, I wanted to bring this up much earlier, but that trouble with the Thirteenth Legion happened. It pains me to say this, but if it weren’t for their interference, that patch would probably have been destroyed along with the rest of my personal effects.” Aaron answered.

Edmund closed the box and threw his arms around the warlock. “Come here you beautiful bastard.” he remarked with a slight chuckle at the end. The two men embraced in friendship and when he withdrew himself, Peterborough was still speechless at what he held in his hands. “I honestly don’t know what to say. Obviously thank you, but this is an absolute treasure. With Wilma the sole exception, this is the greatest gift I’ve ever received. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Maybe name you first child after me?” Divale joked.

“That’s pushing it.” Edmund countered.

“Ah curses.” Aaron replied, mocking sadness. “Well maybe we’ll settle for a drink.” He motioned to Murphy who reached into the pockets of his swimming trunks and pulled out two metal flasks, both still a touch wet from when he jumped into the water.

“Should be more than cool enough to drink.” Audie remarked, passing one to Aaron and the other to Edmund.

Both men unscrewed the caps and Divale started off the toast by saying, “To good friends and a happy birthday. May you enjoy many more afterwards.” With that said, they took a deep draught of the alcohol. “Oh,” the warlock uttered in surprise, “this is very good whisky.”

“Kentucky.” Murphy explained with a smile. “Only the best.” Edmund handed his flask back to the American who took a quick of his own. Aaron tried to pass off the other to Tatiana, but the Russian shook her head violently no.

“Whiskey makes me puke. No thanks.” she stated. Divale shrugged and gave the flask back to Audie. As he did so, he heard a series of taps over his communicator. His brain instantly recognized it as morse code.

(Aaron? It’s Elizabeth. Do you copy?) Buerling asked.

“I’ve got to show this to Wilma.” Edmund said with pride. “She’ll be amazed.” He then started to walk back over to the group, Audie and Nabakov falling in behind him with Divale bringing up the rear.

(I hear you Elizabeth. What’s going on?) the warlock inquired, looking over at the Canadian who was doing a halfway decent job at obfuscating her presence, hiding between Rudel and Aurora.

(How would you like to not only make this a birthday that Mr. Peterborough will never forget and have a laugh?) Beurling morsed.

Aaron craned his neck a tad and saw Elizabeth look at him with a truly impish grin. _Something tells me that I’m going to like this._ (I’m game. What do you need me to do?) he answered.

Wilma turned her head and saw her husband approach, eyes full of glee. “What’s that look for?” she asked, cocking her eyebrows.

“You’ll never believe it!” Edmund replied excitedly, opening the box and taking out the cap patch. “It’s the Belgian 5th SAS! I’ve been looking all over bloody creation for this and never even came close to getting it. Even the Belgian undersecretary himself wasn’t able to procure a copy for me. I still can’t believe I’m holding it.”

Wilma looked the cloth insignia over and outwardly marveled, the rest of the group peering over her shoulders to get a glimpse of what he was ranting about. “Why that’s great darling.” she remarked. “This will complete your collection is that right?”

“I didn’t know the SAS had sub units.” Elizabeth remarked with a furrowed brow.

“Most don’t.” Aaron pointed out, sidestepping around Edmund. He barely grazed the far left hand side of the captain’s trunks with his ankle, but the elated Brit was oblivious, still drunk on happiness. “Yet I managed to.”

Edmund placed the cap badge back into the cardboard box, closed it, and placed it into the beach bag by Wilma’s side with the reverence of a holy man lowering a child into a pool of water for a baptism. “I’m going to go for a dip. You want to come with luv?” he announced.

“In a bit.” Wilma replied with loving smile. “Just give me another minute or two to tan up some more.”

Edmund nodded and gave the love of his life a kiss on the left cheek before marching off towards the water. “This is the best day ever.” he remarked loudly as he waded into the blue waves.

When he got far enough away, Aaron sat down in the spot that the captain vacated next to Wilma and muttered under his breath mischievously, “Oh it’s going to get a whole lot better.” He then placed his first three fingers together on his right hand, the thumb underneath the index and middle, and gently blew on them. The British witch watched spellbound as a gossamer thin silver line manifested out of the aether, the long thread starting from his digits out into the water. Wind picked up and made it quiver like a seismograph. Very carefully, he handed off the string to Wilma who took it with both hands. “Now, this strand is connected to his britches.” Divale informed. “Within the next thirty seconds, you’ll feel a slight tug, just like if you were fishing. That will be your signal that he’s reached the end of the line. Give it a sharp pull towards you and those trunks will be in hands faster than you can say ‘get over here’. After that, I deeply suggest running. He is SAS after all.” Peterborough nodded and the warlock then addressed the rest of the women. “You all know your roles. Play them well and it will be a success.”

****************

Patricia racked the bolt to the sniper rifle, a Springfield, very slowly. Though such precaution was completely unnecessary given that she was out among the dunes easily eight hundred feet away under a camouflaged tarp, the major decided to take no chances. _When it comes to the warlock, you never know if you’re safe._ The thought of the monster that killed her best friend made her blood boil. Ever since that night in Dongola, when she stood by and watched as Matilda mercifully put Abigail out of her misery, she had been obsessed with revenge, going back and forth between bouts of intense sobbing to overwhelming homicidal mania. Her deterioration did not go unnoticed and Matilda brought her before the mistress despite Patricia’s vehement protests. Their leader understood what was going on in her mind and advocated that she take a few days rest off the line with her. Such a gesture was unprecedented for only her bodyguard Matilda enjoyed such company. For almost two weeks, the major walked and dined with the mistress, learning how to not only deal with but to harness the rage within her, a favor that she thanked her leader for again and again. _And now she graces me with an opportunity to test my discipline. I will not fail you my mistress._

The shuffle of sand behind her made her take a look over her left shoulder where, crawling up towards the lip of the dune crest, Matilda casually maneuvered with binoculars in hand. Once she got into position next to the major, she looked through them, using the powerful lenses to see through the windows of the inn, watching for the signal. When they left Tunis, using the vials to take them several miles south of Baggush in an instant, the witches brought with them nearly a platoon’s worth of men to go into the building, eliminate the existing staff, and simply take their place. There, they would spring a trap, capturing as many as they could, and use another set of vials that would take them all back to their stronghold. _And in one fell swoop, we’ll nip this annoying thorn in the bud._ Movement caught her eye and Matilda panned the binoculars towards a window where a man knocked on the glass with his right hand. _That’s the signal. They’ve done it._

“We have control of the inn and the staff have been sacked.” a deep voice echoed from her ear communicator.

“And of the listening device outside? Did you place it?” Matilda inquired, knowing that they had intelligence gathering on their agenda as well.

“Taken care of as well.” the man replied. “Audio should be reaching you in a few seconds.”

“Excellent.” Matilda stated, pleased with how smooth things were going. “Now remember: They are to be taken alive. No killing. If there’s so much as a moderate wound on any of them, not only will your life be forfeit, but all the rest of your men as well.”

“Understood. We’re getting into position now.” the man responded, his voice shaking a tad at the not so veiled threat.

“We’ll let you know if anything comes up. Matilda out.” the witch finished. Killing the link, she turned to Patricia who was already tuning her comms to the listening device’s frequency. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Perfectly fine.” the major answered without doubt in her voice. “I’m fully in control.” She keyed in the last number on the signal and soon voices started to be picked up.

“Run Wilma run!”

“Come back here with those!”

“What the- oh God that’s disgusting!”

“Oooh la la! Take a look at that!”

“It burns!”

“Jesus Christ Edmund, look at that ass! Looks like a pair of raw dinner rolls! Maybe you should stay naked. Brown them buns!”

“Fuck off!”

“I don’t know which is worse: That he has baby hands or the fact that one can cover his front!”

“Oh this is rich! Best plan ever!”

Matilda noted the confused look on Patricia’s face and asked, “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“I haven’t a single fucking clue.” the major replied, stumped as to what’s occurring out of sight. “A lot of yelling and something about running is all I can really get out of it.”

Suddenly, cresting over the small dip in the path leading down from the beach came the blond haired head of Wilma, running full tilt towards the front of the inn, a smile on her face and a pair of black swimming trunks in her hands. Both enemy witches regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. _Interesting._ Less than a three seconds later, another figure came in to view, one that wasn’t as happy as the previous. Glistening in the sun like a piece of red headed chalkand covering his private parts with his hands, Edmund rolled on through, kicking up sand like some burrowing rodent. “When I get my hands on you Wilma,” the captain roared, “there’s going to be a dressing down!”

“I hope so!” Wilma yelled back, opening the door, stepping on through, and shutting it behind her just as Edmund got to the porch.

“Okay,” Patricia muttered, averting her gaze as much as possible, “now I’ve seen everything.”

“Yes we have.” Matilda agreed. “And we also see our first catch of the day.”

**************

Edmund burst through the door like his life depended on it and shut it loudly behind him. A startled shout made him whip his head around where he saw a female staff member drop a handful of clean white towels to the floor, her hands covering her mouth in shock. “Terribly sorry!” the captain blurted, quickly snatching one of the towels up and looping it around his very naked waist before resuming the chase for the wife and his trunks. _What the devil possessed her to do something like this? She never did this on any of our dates._ Following the trail wasn’t too hard for the sand on the soles of Wilma’s feet left telltale footprints on the green carpet. Jogging hard and keeping his eyes slightly downcast, he traced the steps around a left hand corner. At the end of the passageway, Wilma fiddled madly with a key, desperately trying to get inside their room. “I got you now!” Edmund declared triumphantly and dashed right at her. To her credit, the witch didn’t waste precious seconds looking at him and instead managed to thread the key into the lock and turn it. She pushed herself instead, barely evading the outstretched hand of her husband who tried to take the trunks out of her hand.

The over extension and lack of grip where his feet were concerned made Edmund skid and fall flat on his ass. He winced as the rough threading of the carpet rubbed like a cheese grater over his buttocks. _That’s a mark for sure._ That was when he heard Wilma make a sound that he never heard her make before and hoped he’d never have to hear. It was a sharp inhale, nothing too serious considering that she’d been running away from him for a solid two minutes. _But this is different. Panting has a rhythm, an fast in and out of breath. This is the sound someone makes when they’re afraid, when there’s imminent danger._ Scrambling to his feet, Edmund looked through the still open door and saw the love of his life, Wilma Peterborough gazing to either side of the door in abject fear. The captain’s training automatically kicked in, assessing the situation. _Eyes looking left to right. Two targets in the room. Possibility of them being armed and hostile high. Standard anti breach formation likely, one on the left and the other right. They’ll attack high and low, taking away any protection. Can’t see any other targets in room. Improvised breach at an angle. Go to the left, so the first target misses and the second has to swing across body. Impact won’t hurt as much. Then proceed to pacify._ All this went through his head in the two seconds that Edmund used to cast away his towel, take a lunging step hard right, plant his foot, and forward shoulder roll into the room.

Keeping his eyes trained and focused on where he was going, peripheral vision picked up the man on the right swinging down with what looked to be a candlestick holder, missing his completely. The second enemy seemed to have been caught unawares and didn’t lash out at all. The captain reached out mid roll and caught hold of the left ankle, jerking it towards him violently. This caused the foe to lose his footing and collapse to the floor in a surprised heap, a towel rod in his hand. Regaining the initiative, the first man charged at Edmund, but he was already to his feet and caught the wrist with his left hand, stopping the attack. With his right, the captain chopped the man’s throat. The blow connected and made the enemy instantly drop the candlestick holder to the floor and go limp. Not done, Edmund clutched the neck and twisted hard, snapping the spine. The first target managed to get up and rushed him, but before Edmund could move, Wilma suddenly sprung into the fray. Using the trunks as a makeshift whip, she cracked it hard and the fabric snapped right on the man’s right eye. The organ exploded and the enemy roared in pain, listing to the right. A quick step in and Wilma was right there with a vicious punch to the exposed midsection. With that hit, the man crumpled, blood pouring out of his mouth from was assuredly internal bleeding. Quickly grabbing the candlestick holder from the floor, she raised it up and brained the man dead, skull splitting open upon impact.

Job done, Wilma turned her back to the wall and let herself lean for rest as Edmund hastily took the key out of the lock and closed the door. _What the hell was that all about? Why did they attack us?_ It was then that she took a closer look at their faces. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember if she recognized them. “I don’t think I saw either of them when they were vetted.”

“Neither did I.” Edmund agreed, locking the door again and retrieving his trunks from the floor. They were covered in gore and a gigantic tear had rendered them useless. “Me thinks we’ve been had luv. We need to get out of here. Contact the lieutenant. Let her know what’s going on.” he ordered, casting the useless piece of clothing down in disgust.

Wilma put her right hand to her communicator and activated the send stud. “Lieutenant Marseilles do you read? Urgent message. Over.” she stated. However, nothing came back, not even the characteristic beep of merely touching the device. She tried again. “Lieutenant Marseilles do you read?! Urgent message! Over!” And yet again, there was no response, almost as if the comms simply stopped working. Turning her attention back to her husband who was frantically searching for their guns and possessions and said, “I can’t get anything. It’s like we’re in a dead zone.”

“Or being jammed.” Edmund replied, looking more and more frustrated as his search turned up nothing. “And it looks like they took our gear.” Looking down at the bodies he noted, “The fact that they don’t have any of their own means that they want us alive.”

“Try the window.” Wilma suggested, getting her foot under the towel rod and kicking up at Edmund. The captain caught it with his right hand, briskly walked right to the window, and swung with all his might. The wood struck the pane dead on and merely bounced back as if it were a rubber ball hitting pavement.

“Oh you’ve got to be bloody kidding me.” Edmund uttered. He then grabbed the frame and tried to open it. He strained and strained but the window wouldn’t budge. “Fucking Christ.” he muttered. “Looks like we have to fight our way out.” Looking over at his wife who picked the blood slicked candlestick holder up from the floor, he pointed at the right side of the door. Wilma understood and silently took up position.

“You going to put anything on?” Wilma asked gesturing to his still exposed member.

Edmund shook his head no. “Less for them to grab.” he answered. He quickly realized how wrong that sounded and clarified, “Clothing wise at least.” He flicked the lock to the open position and whispered, “You ready to work on a full house with me?” Wilma nodded once, clenching her weapon tight. “On the count of three, two, one, breach!”

************

Everyone stood silent as Marseilles grilled Aaron hotter than the sun for the prank he helped pull. It had gone on for the past three minutes without pause, even when Elizabeth tried to deflect the blame from Divale to her. Hanna would have none of it though, ignoring completely Beurling’s hand in it. “You’re behavior is a disgrace to the 31st and the Allies! I’ve more than half a mind to court marshal you and see you kicked out!” she roared, her voice echoing through out the area. The warlock stood there ramrod straight, no expression to his face. “Oh, you think the silent treatment is going to work here?! You think that will get you some sympathy?! If you honestly think that I won’t do it, you’re a God damned fool!”

Then, Aaron opened his mouth. “It’s not that I think you won’t do it, but I know you won’t do it.” he stated with stoic confidence.

The lieutenant’s eyes flashed with indignation and she strolled right up to him and cocked back her right arm. She swung with all her might and the fist sailed through the air. However, the blow didn’t land. Checking herself, Hanna stopped her knuckles less than a quarter inch away from Divale’s face. Gritting her teeth, she hissed, “And what makes you think that I wouldn’t?”

“Ask yourself this:” the warlock explained calmly, “Can you imagine the blow back you’d receive? Think about it. The Star of Africa having problems with an insubordinate member of her squadron? It wouldn’t reflect well on you. Would make it seem like you’ve lost control of your unit.”

“Like they would say anything to the papers.” Marseilles boasted. “All I have to do is say one word and they won’t publish a thing.”

“Who said anything about them?” Aaron countered with a raised eyebrow. He saw his superior’s expression change from one of authority to one of anxiety. “You may have control over who writes what, but I’m under no such restrictions. There’s nothing at all preventing me from going to the press about this and you know it.” He leaned in, maintaining eye contact, all the while and added solemnly, “I will embarrass you.”

Hanna’s right eye twitched with anger and she clenched her fists so hard the knuckles went white. _That son of a bitch!_ She swallowed and demanded, “Alright you fucker, you made your point, but you’re still getting punished for this! You’ve got double shift guard duty for the next week and you’re apologizing to Captain Peterborough immediately!”

“Even if they’re not in the mood for interruptions?” Aaron inquired.

“Even then.” Marseilles replied seriously. “Now get the fuck out of here. Your beach holiday is over.”

****************

Edmund drove the base of his palm up at a slight angle hard. The impact of the blow against the base of the man’s nose was jarring and the tiny bones went from the nasal cavity all the way up to the brain. Blood came pouring out and the foe fell backwards dead, the shards destroying much of the vital areas. He noticed another trying to swing at him with a light fixture, a hunk of wall still stuck to the base from when he ripped it away. Sidestepping to the right, the blow whizzed past his front, nearly grazing his member. Planting his feet, the captain lowered his shoulders and charged, driving his left shoulder into the man’s stomach and violently slamming him in the wall. The hit knocked the wind out of enemy and his legs gave out, the pain too much to bear. Before he could get all the way down however, Edmund drove his left knee into the center of the face. Kneecap met face and cranium met wall. The skull didn’t go through, instead hitting a support beam. The wood cracked as it gave and for all intents and purposes, the foe was out of commission. A cry of defiance made him whip his head around where he saw two men pushing a fully loaded room service cart at breakneck speed, intending to run him over or pin him against the wall.

Peterborough rose to his feet and yelled back a war cry of his own, running at them with reckless abandon. Suddenly, just as they got close enough to see the whites of each others eyes, a flower vase came hurtling through the air out of nowhere and shattered at it clunked against the temple of one of the cart pushers, knocking him flat. The dirt got into the eyes of the other one and he let go of the cart so he could clear it out. Edmund front flipped over the moving menace and grabbed two of the fruit platters as he did so, oranges and strawberries flying in all directions like grenade shrapnel. Landing on his feet, he lashed out with one of the platters, the edge striking the man’s hands covering his face. The digits snapped, bending inwards as easily as a door hinge. The enemy roared in agony, but it didn’t last long as the captain swung with the other, this strike landing at the back of the neck with such force that it broke the spinal cord. With that threat dealt with he turned his attention to the other man who was with him, but saw to his surprise that Wilma was already on the case, driving her right elbow into the side of his skull. It dazed him and he could do nothing as the witch took up a shard of pottery from the smashed vase and drove it into the throat. Crimson spurted all over her front, staining her partially torn swimsuit.

With the death, the hallway was clear. _At least for now._ Since barging from their room, the Peterborough’s had been locked in close combat mode for the past few minutes, dealing with attack after attack. They came from everywhere imaginable, ambushing them at corners, rushing them once they passed cleaning closets, even going so far as bursting through the thin walls. Their original weapons were long gone, broken by repeated strikes. Rising up from the floor, Wilma panted, “There’s no end to these buggers.”

“Oh there’s an end luv.” Edmund assured, handing her one of his slightly dented serving trays. “This hallway leads to the kitchen. When we get there, we can have proper weapons.” The pair then sprinted down the hallway, keeping slightly away from the right and more towards the left so that doors wouldn’t suddenly open up in their face. The entrance to the kitchen was wide open and the sun shone through one of the windows, painting the tile tiled floor a shade of mild yellow mixed with black shadows from the frame from the left. A large onyx blob could be seen the closer and closer they got. _Enemy._ “Bogey on the left.” the captain pointed out.

Wilma nodded and barked, “I’m going in first! Back me up!” Edmund barely had enough time to nod before his wife crossed the threshold at and leapt into the air. She landed right on a counter top, toes nearly coming into contact with a lit stove burner with a sauce pan full of oil that was crackling like lightning over the heat. The man, a frying pan in hand, swung at her ankles, but Wilma preempted the strike and jumped out, using the serving tray to knock the sizzling pan over the burner and into the enemy’s face. Hot oil met flesh and the inhuman screams rang through the air, bits of skin bubbling up and popping like corn kernels. He collapsed to the floor, rolling around in pain, hands to his ruined face. Ignoring the foe, the witch hopped off the counter, making sure she didn’t land in the still hot grease and saw another man charged at her with a rolling pin. Not wasting any time, she flung the platter across the floor in an attempt to trip him up. The ploy worked and the foe fell face first into the ground, the sickening smack of skull on title palpable. He wasn’t incapacitated and Wilma rushed up to him and front flipped, driving her right heel into the back of the neck. The enemy laid still and she scrambled up to her feet. That was when she noticed that the cries of the face melted man stopped suddenly. Whipping her head around, Wilma saw Edmund retract a butcher knife that he’d just used to slit the throat. He grabbed another from the wooden knife block and slid it to her, handle first for safety.

It skidded to a halt and the witch picked it up just as her husband got up to her. “Now we can do some damage. We should double back towards the laundry room and that way we’ll-” Edmund began to say, but Wilma softly placed the flat of the blade on his bare chest and gave him a look that told him that he wasn’t in a position to suggest anything.

“My kitchen, my rules.” the witch declared emphatically, “And I say we finish the job.”

***************

Aaron grumbled as he trudged up the slope and made the turn that led to the inn. _And all I wanted was to have a little fun. Fucking Christ that bitch is such a downer. No sense of humor whatsoever._ Shaking his head he wondered if the two were having relations and immediately felt to urge to vomit. _Don’t think such things. Those are your friends Aaron. That’s sick. Focus on how you’ll handle this instead._ His feet made a dull thud on the wooden porch however, before he could get in front of the door and touch the brass knob, the portal into the inn violently flew open, the door nearly coming off the hinges as a body with a meat cleaver deeply embedded in the chest flew through the air and landed in the sand eight feet away. Divale’s eyes widened and he looked past the threshold into the foyer where, sitting proudly over a small mound of bodies, were the Peterborough’s, bloodstained knives in hand, and regarding him with a sense of relief. “The fuck is this!” he exclaimed. “If this is how you both get your kicks, I’m out.”

“About bloody time you got here.” Wilma scolded, pointing the knife at him like teacher does a pointer. “We’ve had a devil of a time.”

“The bastards have infiltrated the inn and we have no clue where the staff is. Probably dead for all we know. A few more have barricaded themselves up, but we’re tired and were wondering if you’d be so kind as to take over for us and tell the lieutenant what’s going on.” Edmund explained.

“Sure,” the warlock agreed as he started to relay the message, “but please cover that shit up Edmund or you’re getting an infection. It looks like a piece of penne with a volanti tip. I don’t want to see that.”

Far away, observing all of this transpire through a sniper scope, Patricia couldn’t help but feel downhearted. _There were only two of them and a whole fucking platoon couldn’t handle it? What the hell are we dealing with?_ She saw the warlock talking on his communicator and her trigger finger instinctively wanted to squeeze. Resisting the urge to kill caused her right hand to tremble for only a second before she decided to look away. _Maybe that will help matters._ Matilda placed a calming hand on her left shoulder and whispered, “Good job Patricia. The mistress will be proud of you. Now, let’s go. We’re done here.”

***************

Wilma placed her Striker’s against the wall of her and Edmund’s mostly cleaned up room. Despite the fact that there were still blood stains on the carpet and the door was hanging on one hinge, it was still serviceable. _Fared better than most other places in here._ Once word went out, everyone except Tatiana piled inside and put a new spin on the phrase ‘cleaning house’. With Aaron taking the lead, the rest of the enemy were dispatched in short order. As they went in and scoured the establishment room by room, they eventually came across their weapons and gear as well as the inn staff, or what was left of them, in the cellar. Burial detail was quick and Marseilles then made it a point that from there on out, all future dwellings had to have no nonmilitary personnel within one thousand feet unless cleared solely by her. She used her new found power to force Aaron to take Nabakov back to where she would be safer within two hours. He handled it well and obeyed the order without complaint, even adding a courtesy ‘Yes Lieutenant Marseilles’. Though it didn’t sit well with the rest of the group, they fell in line and went about the process of checking and rechecking their equipment for sabotage. Miraculously, everything passed inspection, leaving them more time to relax, though with an occasional look over the shoulder.

It was now evening and the Peterborough’s had long since shed their swimsuits with Edmund in his white T shirt and skivvies all snuggled in bed and the witch in her white robe. “And that is that.” the captain announced from the bed, lying on his side as to not irritate the nasty rug burn on his behind. He then had a thought and asked, “You think I can get a purple heart out of this rash?”

Wilma chuckled. “If you think you can lie well enough.” she pointed out, sitting next to him. She then looked over at the box on the dresser containing the cap badge that Aaron gave her husband and sighed.

Edmund caught it and inquired, “What’s wrong luv?”

“It’s such a great gift.” Wilma began sadly. “It truly is. The greatest that anyone ever gave you.”

The captain shook his head slowly from side to side and sat up, making a wince while doing so. He then extended his arms and took her by the hands. “That’s not true.” he stated, looking deep into her eyes. “The greatest gift is right here in front of me.” The comment made tears well up in Wilma’s eyes and she blushed. Not caring a wit, Edmund drew her close and hugged her. “I’d rather celebrate my birthday with you in my arms than one thousand cap badges in my bag. I love you Wilma.”

The dams burst and the tears flowed down her cheek as the witch replied with a breaking voice, “I love you too Edmund.”

“Just make sure that we have less uninvited guests next time.” the captain joked with a smile and wink.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With elements of the 31st JFS fighting on multiple fronts, Aurora finds herself tasked with taking and defending Halfaya Pass. Can the Rock of Kollaa put the ice on the enemy's hellish fire?

**_ **Chapter XXII: Iced Earth** _ **

**_ _ **

_The scouts came back later that night and gave their reports. To say that I was surprised that they held that position despite the odds was an understatement. Whoever this witch is, this_ _Aurora “The Rock of Kollaa” Juutilainen_ _, she must be a great soldier. A pity she’s not one of us. We could use the help._

Diary Entry January 1st 1940

Aurora took another batch of 75mm shells for her cannon from the ammo crate and stowed them in her pack, ignoring the steady stream of falling rock dust and pebbles from the explosions that occurred overhead in the dug out cave she was in. Over her communicator, she could hear calls for reinforcements, casevac, artillery support, and observers pointing out enemy positions and movements all along the front. It was a constant barrage of noise, the kind that would make most officers wish for more volume control on their comms, but not the Finnish captain. _I’ve dealt with worse at the Mannerheim Line. We didn’t have a complete defensive front even then. Here, we do._ This here, Halfaya Pass, a strategic point that Rommel himself dubbed ‘an absolute priority’, lay close to 12o miles west of Mersa Matruh and served as the sole means of getting into the lower sections of Libya safely, unless of course you wished to drive all the way south without any hope of nearby oases. Moreover, its position on the escarpment gave it a commanding view of the surrounding territory, namely Sollum, a key point in the enemies coastal defense network. After the fall of Mersa Matruh on the 17th, the four days since then occupied much of General Rommel’s and General Montgomery’s time in relation to the pass. When taken together in the grand scheme of things, it was plainly obvious that the location was the lynch pin. The only problem was wresting it away for it was smack dab in the middle of a heavily fortified defensive line that ran seventy five miles along the border between the two countries. Minefields miles deep and layer after layer of barbed wire made it so that any attempt to get through, whether it be from Sollum, Sidi Omar, or Gasr el Abid, would be costly. To make matters worse were the dual threats of Fort Capuzzo and Fort Maddalena, the former within easy bombardment distance from Halfaya Pass and the latter keeping the distant south in check. Both had ample garrisons that could sally forth with other elements from the nearby strong points of Bardia, Sidi Azeiz, and Gabr Saleh to counter any advance.

After much deliberation and more than a few sleepless nights, a plan of action was formed. The British Eight Army would engage around the vicinity of Sidi Omar, pinning the foe there, while the rest of the Africa Corp would strike at Sollum. To nullify the advantages of the twin forts, Rommel instructed the 31st JFS to coordinate with ground and air assets to prevent them from reinforcing any portion of the line as well as taking and holding Halfaya Pass so that the risks of enfilading fire would be taken care of. Without much thought, Lieutenant Marseilles eagerly accepted the responsibility and went right to work in forming a plan of her own. In her mind, the best way to tackle all three at once was to split their force into three groups. Fort Capuzzo would be hit with everyone they could feasibly use while Aaron would be leading a task force in an attempt to crack Fort Maddalena. As for Aurora, she was given the main event, along with a sizeable contingent of British armor and Japanese infantry to secure the pass. _And what an exercise it has been._ For the past hour or so, she’d been battering the defenders into a bloody pulp, at times causing rock slides with how much firepower that was brought to bear. Despite taking the southern side of the corridor with relative ease, the enemy still controlled the northern sector and refused to budge. _But that’s going to change really soon._

Content with how much ammunition she had, Aurora turned around and started to go back up the long winding passageway that led to the front, wiping away the rock dust in her hair. Her boots crunched on small pebbles and sand as she walked, barely eclipsing her overwhelmed comms. Soon, those noises gave away to the harsh bangs of grenades, the airy thunk of lobbed mortar shells, and the pops of antiaircraft guns. Voices bounced off the rough hewed rock and light could be now be seen from the opening. The moment she poked her head out, Juutilainen’s ears popped slightly due to the change in air pressure and her eyes beheld a battlefield that looked almost exactly like the one she once saw at the Mannerheim Line many years ago. The captain stood at the crest of the southern border of the pass, a six hundred foot high pinnacle that overlooked a valley of carnage. Soldiers, tanks, and low flying aircraft blitzed through a cratered landscape with sparse vegetation and rocks while under withering fire. Burned out wrecks and dead bodies littered the ground for almost the entire three mile width of the pass. Trench lines wound around at selective intervals, providing points where heavy weapons could direct fire at enemy positions above and into the northern escarpment. Though the distance was vast by infantry standards, conventionally it was practically point blank range. High above, the chaos didn’t end, but rather was expanded in the wild blue skies. No clouds of white could be seen, blown apart by the multitudes of flak explosions and contrails from the dueling air forces overhead. One could not tell who was who until a body started to drop. Most of the time however, the victims of war went largely unknown, falling without a sound until they smacked into the earth. The sounds they made upon impact hit harder than any half ton bomb in existence.

Rows of Bofors opened up again some ways behind Aurora, the tings of the shell casings hitting each other as they were ejected from the barrels. Ignoring them, Juutilainen took up her binoculars and gave the enemy side a look. Much of the slope leading up to the top of the escarpment was blown out, boulders the size of trucks blocking sections of the ascent. Recognizing this, the defenders moved men and guns into the rocks, daring any to try to dig them out. Cave entrances sported machine gun nests and 88mm cannon barrels, chewing up ground, man, and machine alike with reckless abandon. Admist the wanton destruction, she could make out a curious sight. Nestled around a tight cordon was Mad Jack Churchill, readying another shot from his longbow while coordinating the assault. Seeing everything that she needed to see, Aurora put the binos away and keyed her communicator. “This is Captain Juutilainen calling Lieutenant Colonel Churchill. How goes the fight? Over.” she asked.

“Not too bad at all.” Mad Jack replied. “However, we might need to get a move on because we’re badly running out of bodies on the front lines and getting more from the rear is not ideal. Many are getting wiped out as soon as they get into range. Our artillery can’t effectively knock out those guns.”

“Help is on the way LC.” Aurora declared confidently. “Leave those guns to me.”

“Understood captain.” John stated. “What’s your ETA? Over?”

“ETA five minutes LC.” the captain relayed. The scrish of sand behind her made her stop transmitting for a brief second as the witch looked behind her. Assembling with due haste were scores of Japanese witches, Land Strikers shining in the noon sun. “And I’m not coming alone.” she finished with a smile on her face.

“Rodger that Captain Juutilainen. As soon as you’re in range, we’re popping green smoke to where the buggers are located. Good luck. Churchill out.” Mad Jack relayed before killing the link.

Aurora then walked over to the witches, the main strike force made up of volunteers and nodded in admiration. _I can’t believe this many came. They know the risks, that they’re walking into a meat grinder, but yet they’re here. Bless them. Bless them all._ A lone sergeant from the group strolled up, halted at a respectful distance, and bowed. Her movements triggered the rest of them to repeat the gesture. “We have answered the call captain.” the witch stated with a slight accent. “You honor us all.”

Juutilainen smiled from the compliment and began the briefing. “Alright ladies, listen up please. Our objective is to traverse the field and provide close range fire support for our troops at the front. We will be under constant fire all the while and getting attacked by enemy air forces is highly likely, so keep you head son a swivel, spread out, and advance on the charge. Do not stop moving. If you do, you’ll be an easy target. Remember your training and you’ll make it out of here alive. Any questions?” she announced. The Japanese sergeant translated the words to her comrades quickly and flawlessly. Not a peep was heard from the witches who merely readied their weapons and revved their Land Striker engines. Turning back to face the three mile sprint they’d have to navigate, Aurora closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer. _Lend me your strength oh Lord. To your arms I commend my spirit._ Opening back up, she breathed in and bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Advance!”

Without hesitation, the entire battle group charged forwards, rocketing down the slope of the escarpment, sand parting like waves of water. Down and down they went, whizzing past makeshift barricades, hurdling over trenches, and zigzagging around still burning wrecks and the dead. Cheers went up from the soldiers they passed, many taking off their caps and imploring them in whatever language they spoke to give the enemy hell. Suddenly, a tank company of ten Churchills emerged from around a collection of ruined bunkers, their commander observing the assault from the open cupola. “Permission to tag along Captain Juutilainen?” the British officer inquired.

“If you wish, but be advised: The enemy has the range on you.” Aurora warned, blitzing past them.

“You heard her men! Take up flanking positions! Get those guns upwards and the machines towards the skies! Protect them at all costs!” the commander barked into his headset before ducking back into his vehicle and closing the cupola. The addition of the ten tanks brought the total count to fifty heavily armed and armored targets, a truly formidable force indeed. _It won’t be long now before we get spotted and ranged._ As if they heard Aurora’s thoughts, the enemy artillery fired in unison. Looking up into the sky, dozens of tracers burned like comet trails as they went up and up and then slowly arced downwards, whistling as they split the air at speed. The witch’s heart beat faster and she gritted her teeth. “Incoming!” she screamed keeping one eye on the shells and the path ahead. Impacts registered all over the place, the concussive forces sending shrapnel and debris everywhere. Two tanks went up in fireballs of steel and fire. Some of the witches lost their footing and fell into craters and trenches, or tripped end over end. At such breakneck speeds, the collisions would result in serious injury if not outright death if they didn’t activate their emergency brakes. The Finn saw one unfortunate witch get her left leg sliced off just below the ankle and hit the ground hard, rolling forwards like a log down a hillside until smashing into the side of a pillbox. A second went by before the other Striker engine detonated, the aetheric fuel tanks rupturing like overripe pimples. However, for every sad sight, many more got right back up and continued to charge, some with bloody faces and arms.

More rounds sped at them through the hot desert air, the guns firing at will now. “Captain Juutilainen,” the Japanese sergeant relayed through the comms, “we have enemy fighters bearing down. Five marks at two o clock.” The whine of Striker engines filled the air as Aurora beheld the witches closing in, heavy caliber cannon and machine guns trying to pick out the targets. She felt the gaze of one of them fall on her. _Not today bitch. Not today._ Aiming her 75mm cannon carefully, she fired a high explosive shell with a timed fuse, hoping to get them to break off. Mounted machine guns and antiaircraft guns panned upwards and let loose, spraying the air with lead. The HE shell did its job, sending the enemy fighters scattering.

“Concentrate fire!” the captain roared over the din, loading another munition. That was when the turned witches let loose with everything they had. Discipline burst fire stitched the sand, the grains flying up like golden brown geysers. Bypassing the tanks completely, they attacked their former friends without mercy. The Japanese sergeant managed to bring one down with a well placed shot to the skull, the cranium disappearing in a splash of crimson mist. The rest got through, exacting a heavy toll. Seven friendlies went down, riddled with bullets or blown to pieces with cannon fire. Aurora snapped off a shot that clipped a bogey trying to turn around for another pass. The shields chimed loudly as the foe was knocked for a loop, the blast knocking out the Striker engines and sending her into a terminal nosedive. Through the smoke, Juutilainen’s yes widened. Though separated by a good quarter mile, the enemy witch looked just like her sister Eila, face taut with fear as she tried and tried to get the engines back online. For a brief moment, Aurora forgot where she was and nearly called her by her sister’s name. _No! Go back to reality! That is not Eila! She’s not here!_ The thought string ended emphatically when the stricken bogey crashed and burned, skidding off the top of a ruined tank and buried itself into a trench.

Shaking her head free of the daze, the captain looked back at the northern escarpment. They were less than a mile away now and she could see some explosions going off inside some of the caves. _That’s the smoke. Good eye Mad Jack._ “Get in range and hit those caves! Watch for the green smoke!” Aurora instructed, aiming for one of them with her 75mm cannon. She squeezed the trigger and a shell came thumping out, thick smoke engulfing her position. Sidestepping to the right, she watched the charge sail through the air and into the gaping maw of the cave. Barely a second passed before it struck something important, the whooshing of flame billowing out of the entrance. Her Japanese counterparts did the same, picking their targets and firing round after round, dodging incoming fire to the best of their ability. The enemy counter fire gradually lessened as more of their guns were knocked out of commission. Peering through fog of battle, the Finn spotted Churchill directing troop movements with his massive sword. He noticed her too and hurriedly directed her to a small depression nearby that was safe from enemy guns. “To the trench line!” she ordered, taking the hint. Weaving through the mass of men still firing rifles and throwing grenades up at the enemy, Aurora slid up next to the near bottom of the escarpment, the rest of her remaining troop falling.

“Bloody good job on those guns captain.” Churchill congratulated. “You’ve knocked their heads down.”

Aurora picked up a dead soldier’s MG42 and checked the receiver. It was still in working order, so she scooped up whatever ammo belts the corpse had on it and draped them over her shoulders like brass necklaces. “Any word from the rest of the front?” she asked.

“Monty is keeping the enemy mighty busy at Sidi Omar, but he’s concerned about rising casualties. Rommel’s got the defenders at Sollum nearly running for Tobruk, but the bastards aren’t making it easy. Marseilles has Fort Capuzzo suppressed for now as does Divale with Fort Maddalena, but he says that enemy reinforcements are incoming on our position from Sidi Azeiz. Rough half a division. T minus thirty minutes.” the lieutenant colonel reported.

The captain shouldered her new weapon and emphatically announced, “Then I guess we should start knocking their heads down permanently. Suppress and get smoke out on my mark. Spread the word.” Churchill immediately started signaling to the nearby units to get ready and the instructions were passed up and down the line. Peering up at the escarpment, Aurora focused on a small cave entrance. _That’s where I’ll go. Don’t stop and keep your shields up._

“All set captain.” Mad Jack announced, reaching behind him and getting his bagpipes ready. When he didn’t get a reply, he turned to her in confusion where he saw that she was equally discombobulated. “A proper charge is not complete without bagpipes.” he explained.

 _Why do I have to tag along with this crazy man?_ “Suppression fire!” Juutilainen shouted, letting loose with her machine gun. The air was filled with the sounds of fury as round after round sped across the entirety of the slope, quickly filling the air with pulverized rock dust and screaming from the wounded and dying enemies unlucky enough to get caught up in it. The witch reached down with her left hand and unhooked a smoke grenade from her belt, pulling out the pin with her teeth. Spitting out the aluminum pull peg, Aurora cried “Smoke out!” She hurled it with all her might near the base of the cave entrance she marked out before. After a few seconds, white mist hissed from the top of the grenade and a pall of thick smoke soon settled over everything. Swallowing deep the captain looked all along the line one last time, taking stock of the men and women she would be leading into mortal combat. “Charge!” she bellowed, swinging herself over the lip of the small trench she was in. “Over the top!”

The Japanese contingent added a war cry of their own, the phrase ‘Banzai’ echoing loudly and mingling with the melodic hornlike sounds from Mad Jack’s bagpipes. It was an interesting bit of chaos to Aurora, but she refused to dwell on it, instead counting down the distance in her head. _Twenty feet… fifteen feet… now ten._ Knowing that there might still be enemies inside the cave she was attempting to clear out, she took a giant leap to the right and fired a quick burst into the entrance as she sailed past to the other side and safety. Sure enough, return fire answered back, the occupants still alive. The witch simply allowed them to waste their ammo for a moment while loading an HE shell into her cannon. Not even looking behind her, she merely pointed the gun through the threshold and fired. An explosion resulted moments later, and Aurora spun into the gaping maw and ran inside. The smoke made it hard to see, but the captain knew what to look out for and fired volley after murderous volley at the dancing shadows. More of her fellow witches fell in behind her and advanced, keeping the pressure on while leaping over debris. Once they got in far enough, the cave started to narrow into a long winding passageway that inclined up. Voices up ahead reached her ears followed by the hard clang of some sort of latch being swung onto a metal rest. _They’re trying to block us._ She inched up to the near wall and took a peek. Around twenty feet away was a thick steel door with a wide mouthed slit fully opened. Aurora quickly ducked back just before the spot she vacated was riddled with bullets.

Observing the situation with an unnerving sense of calm, the Japanese sergeant commented, “It won’t be easy getting into range of that.”

“Oh don’t worry about that.” Aurora replied, focusing her magic into her right hand. As the digits started to glow and the surrounding air started to gt markedly cooler, she added, “I’ve got a little something that will cool their momentum.” With no flourish, the witch thrust her hand around the corner, palm open and yelled, “Freya!” Aetherically super cooled air erupted from her skin and instantly created ice crystals throughout the twenty feet that separated her from the door. The blast slammed into the steel and a harsh crackling like what you’d hear from a roaring fire was heard. After an additional second, Juutilainen maneuvered her cannon around the corner and remarked to no one in particular, “Say hello to my little friend.” She squeezed the trigger and the shell buried itself into the iced over door, hitting dead center. It shattered and exploded inwards, sending shards of ice the size of fire hydrants down the remainder of the once blocked passage and no doubt disorienting and decimating the enemy.

The witches by the captain’s side wasted no time, sprinting up and through the breach, throwing grenades, and hosing whatever lad just beyond. Aurora loaded another shot into her weapon and was about to join up with them before her comms started to hiss and pop with static. “Say again.” she instructed. “I can’t hear you. Boost the signal and repeat. Over.”

“This is Churchill.” Mad Jack repeated. “Enemy air cover has flown the coop to resupply. Pursuit impossible at this time and our friendly fighters are proceeding to RTB to FOB. ETA to reengagement is ten minutes. Allied armor is pushing from the valley below and forward elements are now scaling the heights as we speak.”

“What of the enemy?” she inquired, loading another long belt of bullets into the MG42’s receiver. “What is resistance looking like? Over?”

“They’re either running or pitifully dying where they stand. We have them outnumbered and outflanked. That’s the sum total of the good news right now captain.” Churchill replied.

Aurora got a sinking feeling and she tentatively asked, “Guessing there’s some bad news as well LC? Over?”

“Unfortunately.” the lieutenant colonel reported with a negative tone. “Enemy reinforcements have double timed it, hastening their arrival time. From what I gather, they’ll be right on top of us within a few minutes of emerging out of this hole and we won’t have air cover for another four minutes.”

“Then double time it on our end.” Juutilainen demanded, keeping calm. “We have to get topside or their fate will be the same as ours. Juutilainen out.” After she killed the link, the witch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her thoughts drifted back to the meeting where Marseilles gave her this assignment. _Remember this captain: You are the absolute key here. That pass has got to be taken and held at all costs. Once you have it, let us know and we’ll divert whatever we can spare to you. Hold until relieved._

***************

Marilyn casually cleaned the barrel of her Springfield rifle with the brush provided in the kit as the Cataphractii she rode on top of continued to march over the dunes towards Halfaya Pass. Each step was loud and jarring, but she tuned it out, focusing on her task at hand. A few more twists and thrusts of the cleaning tool later, the American held up the barrel and looked through it. _Not a single speck of residue. As it should be._ Smiling, she then reached for the rest of her disassembled weapon lying nearby. As her fingers closed around the trigger guard, the tip of the muzzle glinted in the high sun, turning back the clock in her head to a that moment in time that she last saw something like that. The smile faded as the last time she saw Abigail alive played out in her mind. _God that was rough. Patricia was inconsolable and it took everything in me to stop her from collapsing when we got back to Tunis. Matilda made the right call, but I still think that we could’ve saved her._ An explosion in the distance drew her attention away from her thoughts and back out towards their destination. Barely ten miles away now, Marilyn could see long black plumes of smoke twist and turn in the wind as they rose up into the sky. Her lips curled in a sneer. _And just when you think that thing couldn’t get anymore fucked, someone decides to lose the pass. All they had to do was hold the damn thing until we got there to drive them away and break through. Just goes to show: Don’t send a soldier to do a witch’s job._

_*************_

“Here it is captain.” Churchill announced, setting down the last component to the field radio down next to Aurora. “Anything else you need?”

The witch picked it up gratefully and started to shove it into the slot. “Just get the men ready for the assault. Coordinate with the Japanese as much as possible. We don’t have much time left before they get here.” she ordered. The lieutenant colonel nodded in understanding and scampered off, leaving Juutilainen alone to her work. _Hopefully this works._ For the past five minutes, she’d been slaving over the enemy radio behind the wreck of an enemy 88mm cannon, trying to get it to work so that she could communicate with Lieutenant’s Marseilles and Divale at the same time. _This wouldn’t have been a problem had I not got to close to that mortar pit. Still surprised the bastard managed to clock me with that shell._ Remembering the strike made the left side of her head ache, but she blotted it from her mind. Locking the missing piece into place, Aurora crossed her fingers and began to transmit. “Lieutenant’s Marseilles and Divale, this is Captain Juutilainen. Please respond. Over.”

“This is Marseilles captain.” Hanna relayed back.

“Read you loud and clear Aurora.” Aaron replied. "You sound awfully clear right now. You have the other side taken care of?”

 _Thank God._ “I have the pass secured, but the enemy is rapidly approaching my position with a mostly Neuroi force.” the Finn stated.

“And what of your group?” the German witch inquired. “How many do you have left?”

“We’ve taken quite a bit casualties during the attack and my air cover had to RTB to resupply. The defenses here are strong, but I don’t know how long I can hold out without help. Can either of you spare anything?” Juutilainen responded.

“I’m diverting several squadrons now to your location. They’ll be there in a few minutes. Hold that line captain. That’s a direct ord-” Marseilles declared, but before she could finish, a massive explosion raced along the radiowaves. It was so loud that Aurora had to cover her ears. “What the hell was that!?” the lieutenant queried.

“Thousand pardons.” Divale answered. “Got a little carried away with blowing up the fort. Now I know that was way too much Comp B.”

“Well that’s fine and dandy, but are you going to get off your lazy ass and lend a hand?” Marseilles demanded.

“I’m heading over there now.” the warlock hurriedly replied. “The rest of my force has to bug out to-” He paused for a quick second and stated, “I’m getting another message. Hold on.” Aurora took a gander over the radio and observed what remained of her force getting ready for the onslaught that was coming their way. Sandbags were being picked up and placed elsewhere, shoring up weak spots in the line. Tanks that had managed to scale the escarpment lay at an angle or waited at the crest, exposing just the turret, guns pointed off into the horizon. Men and witch were scrambling in an organized fashion, getting heavy weapons set up and manned. Churchill was right by the side of the Japanese sergeant digging out a small ditch for themselves with their spades, whistling all the while and drawing odd looks from his counterpart. “I’m back and I’m not happy.” Aaron suddenly proclaimed, his tone reflecting his statement.

“What’s going on lieutenant?” Hanna asked.

“Montgomery has called off the attack at Sidi Omar and is retreating. He wants me to provide cover while he extricates himself. I’ll do my best to make this quick but I can’t promise you much. I’m sorry.” Divale replied.

“Don’t worry about me.” the captain advised calmly. “I’m a rock after all.”

“And that you are.” Marseilles agreed. “Hold and repulse the enemy. Good luck Captain Juutilainen . Marseilles out.”

“Divale out.” Aaron added.

Aurora killed the links and raced from her position right towards Mad Jack and the sergeant who had just managed to get the ditch fully excavated. “We’re getting company?” the Japanese witch inquired, racking the bolt to her 20mm cannon.

“Several squadrons from what I can gather.” the captain answered, making sure that she had a shell loaded into her weapon. “A few minutes out.”

“They might want to double time it.” Churchill muttered while looking through his binoculars. He quickly passed them over to Aurora who looked out in the distance. Closing fast like a plague of black and red locusts, were thousands of Neuroi, churning up the desert sand like water. Legionarys formed a long thick bar of bodies that protected wedge formations of Strategos. Out on the flanks were small groups of Cataphractii. Above it all were dozens of heavy fighters.

Undeterred, the witch calculated the distance and looked over at the sergeant. “Radio the artillery and have them begin shelling grid F9 with everything they got and get me a sitrep with our AA.” Aurora ordered. The Japanese witch nodded and began to transmit the messages over her communicator. Handing back the binoculars to Churchill, Juutilainen cleared her throat before stating, “John, if anything happens to me, you have command.” Mad Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Never hurts to have a backup.” the witch explained.

“Captain.” the Japanese witch reported. “The artillery is ready to fire on your command, but most of our AA is still in the process of setting up. They say five more minutes.”

“Get all available AA to start flakking right above us right now. If they get through en masse, we’re going to have a rough time.” Aurora instructed. Looking over the trench, she aimed her cannon at a group of Neuroi. “All units!” she bellowed. “Prepare to fire on my mark!” The sounds of bolts being pulled back and bodies squaring up could be heard all up and down the defense lines. With a steady hand, the witch started to squeeze the trigger to her gun. _I’m The Rock of Kollaa. Where I stand, the enemy falls. Where I live, the enemy dies. Where I shout, the enemy trembles._ “Fire at will!” Aurora screamed as the round discharged from the barrel. Her shot was soon joined by multitudes of others and the air was filled with the sound of thunder. Shell tracers from friendly artillery zoomed overhead, the munitions whistling as the passed. Hard bangs of flak soon followed suit, clouds of black peppering the sky. The barrage struck the Neuroi like a tsunami, washing over the first few lines and creating huge gaps. The enemy retaliated in kind, beamers from all along the three mile wide front lashing out. Crimson impacted all around the three senior members of the defense. Mixed with the ratatat of guns and the freem of beamer, the cries of the wounded and dying rose to a high crescendo. The air started to get hot as the heat from vitrified sand bled off. Smoke from discharge rolled like a low lying fog.

Neuroi fighters flew headlong into the flak belt, braving the black death without a care for the consequences. Very few perished due to the lack of fire and Aurora eyed them closely as she reloaded and fired like clockwork. They started to dive, whole squadrons tightening the formation into a series of W’s. “Take them down now!” the Finnish witch commanded. Machine guns and those precious few witches that carried light AA unloaded upwards. The enemy fighters got pegged good, several clouds of white death shards erupting whenever one of them died. Still, it was not enough and the captain desperately called out, “Get down!” Not even a heartbeat later, the Neuroi unleashed hell upon the Allies. Men died where they stood, their bodies reduced to blackened chunks of meat or simply winked out of existence as they were vaporized into ash. The chaos didn’t relent until they sailed overhead, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake. Legionary fire raked the barricades that the defenders hid behind, keeping most of them pinned. Knowing that she had no choice, Aurora gave the order while placing her hand out towards the advancing Neuroi and charging her magic once again. “Fall back to the second line! Fall back!” she yelled.

That was when she cast Freya, waving her right hand from side to side. The aetheric cold created a barrier of thick ice protecting the rapidly retreating soldiers as they raced to the second defense line. Making sure to keep an eye on the bulwark she created, Juutilainen ran backwards, Churchill and the Japanese sergeant doing the same. Sections of the ice wall bubbled and glowed red as the enemy tried to blast it away. _That’s not going to do the trick for long._ Vaulting over a small sandbagged machine gun emplacement, she landed squarely on a blackened corpse, the smell of cooked flesh nauseating. When her Strikers planted themselves on what remained of the chest, the charred remains crunched like glass. The sergeant and Mad Jack piled in right beside her with the lieutenant colonel gazing upon the dead body with sadness. “Sorry lad, but we need a bit more room.” he glumly stated while picking up the corpse. With a unceremonious heave, he threw the corpse over the sandbags.

“The fighters are coming back around!” the Japanese witch screamed, aiming her cannon up at the skies again. “They’re behind us!”

Aurora whipped her head around and saw the enemy squadrons come swooping down from their rear. Doing a quick count in her head, she was dismayed that their number was still significant. A terrible thought crept into her mind. _If they’re coming at us from the back, did they knock out our guns?_ “Get me our long range support on the radio now!” she demanded at Churchill.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Churchill hailing all artillery and AA teams. Respond. Over.” the British soldier relayed over his communicator. Nothing came back over the speaker so her tried again. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Churchill hailing all artillery and AA teams. Respond. Over.” A few pops of static could be heard, but no human voice responded. “I can’t get anything from our fire support.” Mad Jack answered.

“Then we have to assume they’re gone.” the Japanese sergeant admitted, reloading her weapon.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Aurora countered, refusing to give up hope. “Keep trying LC.” Looking back at the fighters, she saw they started to pull up sharply, rising higher and higher into the air. _What in the world?_ Out of range, they circled overhead like buzzards for a brief second before a few broke off and started to dive. Analyzing the trajectories, Juutilainen realized what they were going to do. “They’re going to crash into the tanks! Move the tanks! Don’t stand still!” she barked. Some of the tank crews looked up and panicked, abandoning their tanks to their fate. Many more obeyed the order, the drivers pushing the pedals to the metal decking to get out of harms way. However, the Churchill’s were slow and the narrow spaces they snuck into made it hard to maneuver around. The situation was dire and Aurora lent her cannon to the torrent of fire that tried to prevent the enemy fighters from accomplishing their objective. Though it was impractical, she managed to bring down two with some well placed shots, yet they still charged down and down until they smacked into the tanks that couldn’t get out in time. The machines were crushed like insects as the Neuroi flattened them, balls of fire and steel sweeping over the battlefield. Concussive forces sent bodies, both the living and the dead, flying around like rag dolls. One witch was so violently flung away that her legs were torn off, blood jetting out of the stumps as she screamed in pain.

While reloading, Aurora took a glimpse at the ice wall again, though now it was more like an ice hill for the heat of the environment and of the Neuroi beamers started to take its toll. The thirsty earth gobbled up the moisture so fast that one would be hard pressed to figure out where the water had gone. Some spots were so thin in places that they looked like windows and through those portals, she saw hordes of Legionarys climbing on top of Strategos in order to scale the heights. _Can’t use the cannon now. Need to find something else._ “Eyes on the wall!” Juutilainen yelled, looking for another weapon nearby. “Hold the line! Give them everything you’ve got!” Finally her eyes found a Lee Enfield rifle and she grabbed it. Aiming down the sights, the witch spotted the head of a Legionary popping up over the crest and fired. The Legionary rocked backwards as the head was blown off, dissolving into shards. Marksmen from all over lent their support in keeping the wall clear of breachers. Neuroi after Neuroi went down, tumbling backwards or forwards into the killzone, yet for each one that they killed five more would sprout out of nowhere, an unceasing hydra of walking killing machines. Eventually, the sheer weight of numbers prevailed and they started flooding the tip of the first line, firing as they advanced. The space was soon filled with crisscrossing tracer and beamer fire.

Aurora fired the last shot from her magazine and started scrounging for something else. “Here!” Churchill called out from next to her. Whipping her head around, the witch saw the lieutenant colonel hand his sidearm, a Webley revolver and the ammo over to her. “Make them count captain.”

“I’m out!” the Japanese sergeant called out as the last shot from her 20mm cannon took down another enemy.

 _We’re all running out of ammo. Where are the-_ Before she could complete that thought, the remains of the ice wall collapsed, frozen sheets shattering like glass as they hit the ground. Behind them, the Strategos and Cataphractii appeared, waltzing through the holes. Though they were still a ways away from them, the whine of their weapons was deafening. Three noticed the gathering of officers and trained their guns on them. Aurora expected them to fire at any moment, but they never got the chance to. Heavy weapons fire from above pelted the foe into submission, their cores blown out with focuses strikes. Looking up into the blue heavens, Juutilainen’s face lit up. Descending like warrior angels, their air cover had arrived at long last, chewing up the enemy. The sight triggered a massive cheer from the beleaguered troops, fists pumping into the air as Neuroi all around them died.

“Damn.” Churchill commented. “I wanted them to get closer so I could hit them with my sword.”

Both witches looked at the dejected Brit in wonder. “Is he always like this?” the Japanese sergeant asked, not sure if he was joking or not.

“Don’t worry about him.” Aurora replied, deflecting the question. “Concentrate on finding ammo and weapons. We need everything we can get.” She looked out over the sandbags and breathed a small sigh of relief. _My God I think we have it. We might actually hold this spot._

***********

The tick tick of the hammer might as well have been silent given the battle raging all around her, but Marilyn could pick it out. _It’s always easy to do so if you concentrate hard enough._ Once the mysterious ice wall formed, the witch decided that relocating would be ideal, hopping off her Cataphractii. It ended up being a wise choice for it got killed less than two minutes later by the enemy’s air forces. Since that time, the American had been right at work, erecting a camouflaged tarp over a crater, the stakes cracking through inches thick glassed sand. She put a lot of force into the blows, making the job that much easier. Finally, with one last mighty pound, the peg went down. Explosions went off nearby, but she paid them no mind. _Just misses by the enemy. They don’t know where I am._ Taking great care not to hurt herself, Marilyn crawled on her stomach up to where she cut out a hole in the tarp. Looking through it, she could see a furious battle still being waged for the pass over a half mile away, one which they were losing. Though the Neuroi held a solid front, it was getting ground down, the arrival of those blasted witches turning the tide. White shard clouds floated through the air as more and more died. Undeterred, Marilyn calmly placed her ammo close by and got into a comfortable sniping position. _Go right ahead you bastards. Kill more of them why don’t you. I don’t care. In due time, the real fun’s going to begin._

***********************

Mad Jack tossed the grenades he found in the crate and grabbed the rope handles. With a grunt, he lifted it up and proceeded further down into one of the tunnels with haste. _Have to get a move on John. The battle’s not over yet._ When their air cover and Marseilles witch reinforcements arrived, the Neuroi started to fall back behind the first line, trying to regroup. Knowing that allowing them to do that would lose them the battle, Aurora had committed all her remaining forces that she didn’t task with weapon and ammo retrieval in retaking their original defense lines. It was a bloody undertaking, one which carried great risk, but there was little choice in the matter. Despite mounting casualties, Captain Juutilainen’s gamble paid off big and the enemy was thrown over and beyond the breach point, getting hit from both the air and ground with equal intensity. However, the tactic expended precious ammunition and the foe was far from defeated. Looking around the corner, he spotted several of his handpicked men flipping over dead bodies and checking them for anything useful. The lieutenant colonel cracked a smile as he saw several of their crates getting fuller and fuller with guns, ammunition, explosives, and mortar shells. “Looks like a few somebodies were good at Easter eggs hunts.” he joked. A few of the men laughed, but many ignored him, focusing on their grim work instead. _Tough crowd._ He heard footsteps behind him and turned around. Holding two metal ammo boxes under one arm and clearly struggling with two Vickers machine guns was the Japanese sergeant. Including those, her pockets were stuffed with grenades, pistols, and clips. She didn’t seem to notice him and was about to continue on her way when Churchill walked towards her. “Put those ammo boxes in here.” he offered, extending his crate laden arms. “It’ll lighten your load.”

The witch took one look at the contents of the crate and back up at him. “You sure? It’s pretty full.”

“Do I have to pull rank?” Mad Jack inquired with a cocked eyebrow.

“Alright.” the sergeant stated. She hefted the ammo boxes up with a mighty heave and set them as gently as she could into Churchill’s crate. The extra forty pounds wasn’t welcome, but Mad Jack sucked it up and readjusted his grip.

“I think we have a decent haul.” he observed. “Let’s get up to the surface.” The pair returned back up the passageway they took to get in andbooked it as fast as they could. Far ahead, they could hear the sound of the continuing battle, a din that got louder and louder with every step they took. They emerged a few seconds later and the wall of war hit their ears with the force of thunder claps. Far off in the distance, pockets of dogged Neuroi resistance still clung to the recesses in the dunes or near the crests, taking potshots at the Allied soldiers that were continuously harassing them with whatever they had. Cracks of rifles and thudding staccato rhythms of machine guns contrasted sharply with the freem of beamers. Ground elements coordinated with air assets in trying to apply pressure with great effect. With the front mostly stabilized, triage moved in to take care of the wounded. Mild injuries were patched up and sent immediately back into the fray while the hard cases had to be taken further towards the rear for safety. Immediately off to the right of tunnel entrance was a trench line where a good dozen or so men and women lay hunkered down. They were waiting for weapons and ammunition for they were fresh out. Keeping low as to avoid a stray beam to the skull, the lieutenant colonel and sergeant slunk away and into the trench. The faces of the tired soldiers brightened as the load was set down.

“Take what you need, not what you want.” the witch instructed, making sure that everyone got their fair share. With haste, the soldiers started to pocket what they had space for and moved out, running at near breakneck speeds.

Churchill stopped a private with a stern look and asked, “You know where Captain Juutilainen can be found private?” The man nodded and pointed further down the trench line.

“You’ll find her a good fifty feet that way LC.” he reported. “Last I saw, the captain was trying to radio the 31st.”

“Carry on.” Mad Jack instructed and turned to regard his Japanese counterpart who directed more of the salvage teams towards the trench. “I’m meeting up with the captain.” he stated.

“I’m coming with you.” the sergeant replied, getting a move on. Together they traversed the trench, keeping low as always. It didn’t take them long to find Aurora sitting on stool in front of the radio, flipping dials this way and that to find a signal.

“Lieutenant Marseilles this Captain Juutilainen, do you copy? Over?” the witch radioed into the speaker.

“I read you loud and clear captain.” Hanna’s voice answered. “What’s the situation?”

“We have pushed the enemy back and are continuing to defend, but we’re running perilously low on ammunition. I have sent salvage teams out into the tunnels to find whatever they can, but it’s not going to be enough to finish the job. Is there any way you can get more ammo out here?” Aurora queried.

“That’s a negative captain.” Hanna replied sadly. “We’ve taken control of Fort Capuzzo and Rommel has instructed us to hold it and divert all long range artillery to aid him in taking Sollum. Has Lieutenant Divale reached you yet?”

“No lieutenant.” Aurora answered, silently cursing to herself. “Matter of fact, I don’t where he is. I’ve been trying to raise him, but haven’t had any success.”

“Hold on captain. I’m going to see if I have any luck. Stand by.” Marseilles advised. Several pops of static later and Hanna raised the hail. “Lieutenant Divale this is Lieutenant Marseilles. Where are you? Captain Juutilainen needs your help. Over?”

Loud bangs of gunfire echoed across the radiowaves followed by the voice of the warlock, his tone very much strained from fatigue. “How bad is it Aurora?” he asked.

“I could really use you out here Aaron.” the witch stated.

“Alright. I haven’t really cleared the shit box I’m in, but it’s as good as it’s going to get. Give me two minutes and I’ll be right overhead. I promise. Divale out.” Aaron answered.

Aurora breathed a sigh of relief and was about to thank Hanna for a job well done, but suddenly the top of the radio exploded into a shower of sparks.The shock of the hit caused the witch to fall off her stool backwards int the wall of the trench. Dazed by the impact, the captain looked through fuzzy eyes only to see the entire mass of electronic equipment start to topple right at her. Thankfully for her, Churchill and the sergeant rushed in and shoulder barged the hunk of metal and plastic away from her, the nearest edges missing her left arm by inches. Another Japanese witch some distance behind them, a medic with the red cross arm band on her right arm, started to bolt towards them with a kit in her left hand. She didn’t even take two steps before everything from her nose on up was violently shot away, the force of the hit sending her lifeless body over the opposite side of the trench wall. Shock settled in among the group, but Aurora managed to clear her mind and assess what just happened. _That wasn’t a Neuroi beam. That was a sniper, but from where?_

“Sniper!” Churchill shouted at the top of his lungs into his communicator. “Find cover! Get down!”

The Japanese sergeant did the same thing in her native language over her comms and regarded Aurora after she was done. “You alright captain?” she asked. “You hurt?”

“I’m fine sergeant.” Juutilainen replied, thankful for their help. “That’s not a human sniper. Only a witch could infuse a bullet with that sort of destructive potential. We need to find out where she is and fast.”

“I got an idea.” Churchill suggested. He unsheathed his broad sword and held it up away from him at an obtuse angle, looking at the reflections in the steel. Not even a second passed before the blade got struck by a bullet, the round piercing through the sword as easily as a pin went through paper. Mad Jack then brought the sword down and looked at it. “This woman is quite the shot and is somewhere off center of the defense line.”

The Japanese sergeant reached into her right breast pocket and pulled out a map. Opening it up and flattening it out, she took a quick look at it and deduced, “Given what you just said, the only possible location she could be is here at D7. The crest of the dune would give her a perfect view.”

 _That’s great and all, but it’s not enough to tell us. Wait a second-_ Aurora looked over at Churchill and ordered, “Get Aaron on the line. I’ve got an idea of my own.”

**************

Marilyn calmly squeezed the trigger once more and kept her eyes trained on the man who was desperately trying to get into a better position. One second he was sprinting, zigzagging all the way and the next his left side exploded inwards, making him spin like a ballerina to the ground. Chuckling, the witch pulled the bolt back to her rifle and loaded another round. _It’s like shooting buzzard hawks at home. Too easy. If I knew that, I would’ve brought more ammo._ After racking the slide back into position, she readjusted her grip and looked for another target. Suddenly, her eyes picked up a blast of energy coming from one of the trenches nearest to the tunnels racing into the air at a high angle. Ignoring everything else, the American tracked the aetheric attack as it arced upwards. Calculating the trajectory, Marilyn shook her head in wonder. _What in the world did they think they would accomplish with that stunt? All it does is reveal where you are._ Remembering where it came from, she aimed as was about to fire when she felt a rush of cold air all around her, chilling her to the bone and making her breath turn to vapor whenever she exhaled. _What the fuck?_ Before she could do anything else, a wall of ice appeared around the fringe of her camouflaged tarp, sealing her peephole and locking the barrel of her gun in place. The witch pulled and pulled with all her might, but the weapon wouldn’t budge. Panicking, Marilyn let got of her rifle, bits of skin from her fingertips coming off and scrambled to find a way out. However, she soon realized that there was going to be no escape as the wall of the tarp were starting to freeze over, large crystals of ice forming and getting closer with every passing moment. _I’ve got to use it! It’s my only chance!_ The frigid air was getting to her, her vision blurring as the cold dulled her senses and made her muscles lock. With blood barely dripping out of her trembling fingers, Marilyn forced her right arm to move. Pain shot up her arm as the skin cracked and bled, only to freeze up in an instant. _Come on! Come on!_

*************

Aurora looked out towards where Aaron had deflected her Freya and aimed her cannon at the growing ice sheet that had materialized around the sniper’s position. _Only one shot left. Make it count._ Wasting no time, she pulled the trigger. The 75mm HE shell zoomed forwards, leaving a faint tracer trail. It sailed through the air and slammed into the ice pocket. Detonation occurred and the crystals shattered into a million pieces, sending a plume of razor sharp ice pelts and shards everywhere. Churchill saw what happened and issued a low whistle. “Confirm target destruction Lieutenant Divale.” he ordered through his communicator.

“On it now LC.” the warlock’s voice rang over the radio waves. Several seconds went by and he stated, “Target confirmed destroyed. The captain certainly iced that bitch.”

“Copy that.” Mad Jack replied, giving his counterparts a thumbs up. “Continue to attack the enemy. Churchill out.” He killed the link and gave Aurora a reassuring clap on the left shoulder. “Splendid job Captain Juutilainen. We’ve held the pass.”

“Yes we did.” the witch replied, looking out at the rapidly diminishing enemy forces. “Yes we did.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrown back into command against his will, Aaron leads a mission deep behind enemy lines. Little does he know that things are about to get rough.

**_ **Chapter XIII: Stray Cat Strut** _ **

_A smile can be a window or a door. For me at that moment, it was both. The gesture only lasted for twenty five seconds if that, but it took every last fiber of my being to not break down and cry when I saw her. I have nothing against Juliette and I never will. It’s just that fate can be so cruel sometimes. Why does she have to look so much like her, like the woman whose name I’ll never call out again?_

Diary Entry April 23rd 1944

Juliette Deveraux crawled carefully up to the tripwire that laid barely an inch over the sand sand dune, her engineer kit right in front of her. It used to be a light blue, but she’d painted it black so that the light of the moon overhead wouldn’t reflect off the surface and reveal her position. Off to her right, Amelie followed close by, keeping a watchful out for any sentries or additional booby traps. Somewhere to the left of them, the witch knew that Aaron and Helga were out there, doing the exact same thing. She keyed in the lieutenant’s frequency and morsed, (Almost in position. Where are you?)

(Just about there Juliette.) the warlock morsed back. (Let me know when you’re ready.)

Deveraux killed the link and eyed the wire, looking where it came from and where it led. Tracing the thread, she saw a batch of land mines, the tripwire aligned so that if anyone broke it, they would set them off, causing massive damage. _We can’t have that now can we?_ Turning over to Planchard and nodding, the French pair went right to work. It was nothing they haven’t done before in training, but given the circumstances, it carried far great stakes than usual. After the fall of Sollum and the destruction of the forts, the enemy’s defense line was broken and they had no choice but to retreat from the Libyan border. Ever the one to seize the moment, General Rommel galloped on after them, knowing full well what the next plan of attack would be: Tobruk. Situated roughly one hundred miles to the west, the city had great strategic importance. Lying close to a peninsula, it was home to the largest natural protected harbor in the country. As such, it was virtually impossible to take out from the sea or the air, making it a key resupply point for the enemy regardless of situation or weather. Knowing this, the enemy had fortified the numerous escarpments and cliffs in the south and constructed an airfield that, according to intelligence, was home to an entire air corps. With air power being key in a desert war, General Montgomery advised a quick raid with the intention of sabotaging the airfield, lessening it’s capabilities. Both Rommel and Neumann were hesitant to agree for the sole reason that if such a strike were authorized, the force would be over forty miles behind the front lines. To them, it was extremely foolhardy if not borderline insane to think that a small detachment could sneak past all the mines, the artillery, the tanks, and enemy witches, blow up the airfield, and simply waltz right on back. Understanding the point, the British general offered a counter proposal. Remembering that Aaron could render people invisible, he could, alongside other qualified members, lead the mission and execute the objectives. That sold the other two, but when it was brought up in a later meeting with the rest of the 31st JFS, Divale astonishingly declined and cited many logistical issues of such an undertaking. Despite his contentions, the superiors didn’t budge and the warlock was forced to back down.

 _Which is where we come in. He may be powerful, but we have the power of explosives._ After fishing around for a few seconds, Juliette took out a clamp that was affixed to a small iron stake. Gingerly, she scooped out a long deep line in the sand directly underneath the tripwire, opened the clamp, finagled the tool underneath it, and shut the jaws back. Amelie did the same on her end and pulled out a pair of wire cutters, similar to a pair of handheld garden shears, and positioned them to cut the wire in between where they attached their clamps. (We’re ready Aaron. Begin to cut on my mark.) Deveraux ordered over morse. (3,2,1,cut!). Planchard worked the shears, slicing through the thin thread faster than it took to wink. Watching the mines, Juliette smiled as the wire leading to them was still taut. _They’ll never go off now._

“Hopefully we don’t encounter anymore of those.” Amelie whispered while putting the wire cutter away. “I’m down to two of those.”

“I’m sure Aaron will help us think of something.” Juliette assured in a low voice. She then started to morse Divale again. (We’re moving forwards right now. You see anything?)

(I’m cresting the dune I’m at right now. Give me a second.) the warlock radioed back. The French witches waited and waited for a good five seconds before his finger taps started to relay, (I see nothing here at all. We’ve gotten through. Meet me sixty feet due west. Divale out.)

Once Aaron killed the link, Helga looked out over the dune once more and couldn’t help but feel awe. Around half a mile out, surrounded by a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire, was the biggest airfield that she ever laid eyes on. It was five miles long and easily three miles wide, complete with several large domed hangers that made her think of the one the 501st had back in England at Dover and five barracks. Here and there, Von Kreiger could make out the faint shadowy outlines of the seemingly random guard patrols. Amazingly, there were no defensive emplacements to speak of outside of machine gun towers with searchlights mounted on top. _Why wouldn’t they. The airfield is so far behind the lines that any attack trying to hit it would be insane._ “That’s a big target.” she admitted.

“Just plant some bombs and blow the hell out of it they said.” Divale muttered derisively as he adjusted his glasses. “Like I told them, there are only four of us. Fucking four people can only take so much explosives. But they were like nonsense, you’ll find a way to get the job done. Fucking idiots.”

“Is it just me or did someone get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Helga joked.

The warlock regarded her with a baleful stare. “I’m not in the mood for jokes Helga.” he warned. “I don’t want to be here and I don’t want any of you here either.”

“Well like it or not, we are here and you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Amelie piped up from their left side, Juliette right behind her. When she was close enough, the witch took a gander at the airfield and her eyes widened. “C’est énorme (That’s huge)!” she gasped.

“C'est ce qu'elle a dit (That’s what she said).” Aaron quipped with sly grin.

“Je pensais que tu n’étais pas d’humeur à plaisanter (I thought you weren’t in the mood for jokes).” Deveraux retorted.

“I lied.” Divale answered with no humor. “I’m going to do some advanced reconnaissance to see if I can determine which of those hangers will be the best to hit.”

“Is that also what she said?” Helga asked.

“You have more experience in attacking hangers than I do, you tell me.” Aaron replied coolly. The comment hit hard and the warlock was about to up and leave, but Juliette had had enough of the back and forth between the two and grabbed him by the collar with her left hand. _It’s been constant sniping for the last hour and I’m sick of it!_

“Okay,” Deveraux hissed through gritted teeth while wrenching her, “this has gone on far enough Aaron! That was uncalled for and I demand you apologize right now!”

The move surprised the warlock to the point where he was speechless. Slowly, he placed his right hand over Juliette’s left and stated, “Alright. Alright. I’m sorry okay?”

The French witch didn’t let go and stared him down. “Say it like you mean it.” she demanded.

Aaron then looked over at Helga and said, “Sorry about that sergeant.” Von Kreiger nodded and Juliette let go, but she kept an angry eye on him as he slunk away into the darkness.

“The hell was that all about?” Planchard inquired. “You okay Deveraux?”

“I’m so sick and fucking tired of him bullying her.” Juliette seethed. “He has no right to treat her like that.”

“Actually,” the German sergeant countered sadly, “he does.”

“What do you mean?” Deveraux asked.

Helga looked over the dune one more time to see if Aaron was close by. When she couldn’t see hide or hair of him, she beckoned the pair of witches to come closer. They did so and she began to explain. “What I’m about to tell you, you absolutely cannot tell anyone else, especially Aaron. Before I was assigned to this unit, I was a member of The Thirteenth Legion.” she stated.

Silence washed over the scene as both Juliette and Amelie processed that nugget of information. “You were all behind that coup in Dover!” Planchard exclaimed.

“Yes we were,” Von Kreiger responded, her tone forlorn and eyes downcast, “and I’m not proud of it. During the preliminary hearing, I pled guilty and threw myself upon the mercy of the court. They told me that I could do more being alive than dead and shipped me off here. They even told me that if I did my job well enough, they could reduce or even commute the sentence.”

“So you’re in this for yourself?” Juliette asked.

Helga shook her head violently from side to side. “No! I truly am sorry for what I did back then and I want to make amends!” she vehemently answered. After calming down for a few seconds, she added, “It’s just really hard for him to forgive something like that. Can’t blame him.”

Deveraux nodded in understanding and placed her left hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. “Well, at least you’re doing the right thing.” she assured.

“That answers that mystery.” Planchard stated. “Now if we could only figure out why he’s so skittish around you, we’d be all set.”

“I can clear up that quandary as well.” Helga confessed, locking her eyes with Juliette’s. “During the attack, my brother shot and killed a woman by the name of Lucretia Domino. She was the 501st’s chief medical officer and civilian liaison. Aaron loved her very much and she loved him. Lucretia died in his arms.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Deveraux inquired.

“Apart from the age and height differences, you are a spitting image of her, down to the last hair on your head. If you dressed in an medical officers coat, skirt, and shoes, you’d be Lucretia reincarnated.” Von Kreiger answered.

The revelation made Juliette think about that conversation she and Aaron had in El Alamein when he came back from the tunnels. _So that’s what happened. He let his tongue slip and nearly called me by her name._ “Seems like he hasn’t gotten over her death.” she deduced.

“He hasn’t gotten over a lot of things.” Helga pointed out. “He said as much when we were waiting for that gas cloud to clear in El Alamein.”

“Aaron needs help.” Amelie determined. “He needs it badly. This grief is killing him. I mean just look at how shabby he looks. I don’t think he’s had a haircut in two months and hasn’t shaved since then. This goes on any longer, he’ll look like one of the locals. We need to help him get his head on straight.”

“Believe me, no one knows that better than Aaron.” Von Kreiger countered. “He told me that he’ll get help when he believes he’s good and ready to get it.”

“Pah!” Deveraux scoffed. “Forever and a day is a long time to wait and he can’t afford to do it. Amelie is right. That man saved our lives back in France from a fate worse than death and I’ll be damned if our hero is going to destroy himself without us doing anything to save him in return. He’s our friend and we owe him that much.” _The only question is: How do we do it?_

(You hear me Juliette?) Aaron morsed over the comms.

(I hear you.) Deveraux answered. (What did you find?)

(Something between pay dirt and jack shit. I located a sure fire way to get inside the perimeter without being seen, but I haven’t the faintest idea as to what site is best for demolition. So we’re going to have to do this the roundabout way.) Divale explained.

(What do you mean by that?) Juliette asked, not sure where he was going with it.

(We need to bag us one of those guards out there and bring it in for a chat.) the warlock illuminated. (I’d like to call it Operation Cat Nap.)

****************

The British witch captain loosened the top two buttons of her uniform, letting the cool night air do its work. Sighing as her overheated body started to chill out, she silently cursed her squad mates for having the heat on in the barracks. _Fucking daft cunts. We’re already roasting enough during the day. Besides, it’s such a waste of precious fuel._ Looking up at the moon, one that was full and luminous, she tried to get her mind to think on pleasant things, but it was hard to do, especially on this night of nights. It was already common knowledge that the enemy was close, the front lines easily a day away. _It won’t be long before we get sent up against them. Everyone’s nervous about the whole thing. How the hell did this go so bad so fast? We had them dead to rights at Alexandria, but then-_

The wind picked up a tad, whistling and kicking up miniature dust devils along the runway. In the moonlight, some of the larger grains looked like a pair of yellow eyes looking right at her. The sight gave her more chills than the air and the captain decided to continue walking her route, the Bren machine gun loaded and at the ready. Turning a corner, she made her way up her squadron’s hanger and chuckled. “Apparently all roads lead here.” she mused. Observing the windows, she was pleased to see that they were dark as per regulations. _Christ knows with the mistress’s bodyguard around, she’ll have someone’s ass if anyone cocks up._ Thinking about the fearsome warrior in their midst, the witch wondered why she was here in the first place. _Shouldn’t she be at the front where she’s need the most? Makes no sense to be this far behind the lines. She’s not a flyer so-_ Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a faint scrish nearby. Immediately, her hands went to the weapon and started to advance slowly and quietly, panning to and fro with her gun. “This is Captain Boswell. I’m investigating hanger eighteen. Will update in a few minutes.” she uttered into her communicator.

“Rodger that Vivian. You need backup?” the watch guard controller asked.

“Negative control. I have this taken care of. Boswell out.” the witch replied and then killed the link. Listening carefully, the scrish was getting closer with every step. Vivian scarcely breathed as worst case scenarios flashed through her mind. _Probably another thief from Tobruk thinking that this place is easy pickings or maybe a random pilot playing hooky._ She got up to the corner and placed her back against the wall. Counting down in her head from three, Vivian squared up and twirled away from the wall into the open, staring down her gun sights. It turned out that it wasn’t a person at all, but rather a snake with a huge rat held firmly in it’s jaws, slithering it’s tail this way and that as it slowly swallowed it’s meal. Relieved, yet annoyed at the same time, Boswell angrily kicked a foot full worth of sand at the serpent. Attacked, the snake quickly darted away out across the tarmac, leaving a furrowed trench as it went. “This is Boswell. Just a snake. Resuming patrol.” she radioed over he comms.

“Copy that captain. Little jumpy out there?” control replied, making light of things.

“Ha ha. Boswell out.” Vivian mocked before ending the conversation. “Maybe I am a little spooked.” she murmured as she calmed down from the adrenaline rush. It was at that point she noticed that the front door to the hanger was open slightly. _Well that’s just great. There’s probably more of them in there. I really need to crack down on this leaving the door open when it’s supposed to be closed bullocks._ Grumbling, the witch reached for the knob, but never got a chance to wrap her fingers around the brass. Fast than a bolt of lightning, something darted out from the darkness and struck her hard on the left side of her head. Her world went out and Vivian felt her knees barely give out just before she lost consciousness.

**************

Her nose stung as she breathed in something foul and sharp. Opening her eyes, the outside world looked fuzzy and dark with small patches of light coming in from somewhere. Feeling something rough across her mouth, Vivian tried to move her right arm, but it refused to budge. In fact, besides her head, nothing seemed to move at all, not even her fingers. Panic set in. _What is going on?! Where am I?! Where is my gun?!_ Fear brought everything around her into focus. Adjusting rapidly to the darkness, Boswell found herself inside the hanger, moonlight shining through the windows and the oculus at the launch dais. Faint outlines of three people could be discerned and instantly the British witch tried to call out to them, but her voice was muffled. Moving her tongue to her lips, she soon realized that she’d been gagged with a terry cloth. _Oh no! I’ve been captured! The enemy is here! I have to get free somehow and warn the others!_ Frantically, she did everything in her power to break free of whatever was holding her in place. Gazing at her arms and legs, she was shocked when she didn’t see anything at all. No ropes. No chains. Nothing at all. _What the fuck is this?!_

The sound of a lighter flicking to life right behind her caused Vivian to gasp. “Ah, you’re finally awake.” a male voice whispered. Sweat beaded on her brow as the man’s footsteps circled around her right. Not so much as moving a muscle, she tracked him with her eyes. He was massive, easily 6’4” with a hair nearly touching the base of the nape of his neck and a face in bad need of a razor. Bars of a lieutenant winked in and out as he drifted within and without the shafts of moonlight, looking like a ghost. The spectacled eyes were closed, the cherry of the cigarette burning a dull orange, trailing smoke. After taking a drag, the mysterious figure gently took of his glasses and placed them into his right breast pocket. Smoke billowed out his nostrils as he opened his eyes. The moment Vivian saw them, she tried to scream, but sheer naked terror silenced her. Two glowing yellow orbs gazed right back at her with a stare that could put fear in God. _Oh fuck me! It’s him! It’s the warlock!_ “You must excuse me for taking one of these.” he casually mentioned while wiggling the cigarette with his lips. “It’s been a very stressful day and I really needed a smoke.” Again, Boswell strained against whatever power that froze her in place, but like before, her body remained rooted to the spot. “It’s not going to do you much good captain.” the warlock pointed out. “No one has ever broken my bonds.” His words caused the British witch to hang her head in defeat, breathing hard from the exertion.

Cocking an eyebrow and furrowing his brow in deep thought, the warlock approached with measured steps. Vivian visibly trembled as she hesitantly looked up. “Is it just me or does she know who I am?” he asked out loud, addressing whoever else was behind him in the shadows.

“Seems like it.” a female voice answered with confidence.

“Not a very good thing to have people know who you are out here.” another woman’s voice observed.

“You should rectify that quickly.” the last female voice advised.

The warlock took his cigarette down to the butt and spat it out onto the floor. It barely bounced up once before his right boot was firmly on top of it, grinding the filter into the concrete. “So you all say, but I think we should make sure before we do anything rash.” he determined. Vivian watched as he clicked his heels together and hear the sound of a spring go off. He reached down and pulled a knife from the right sole. Holding it in his hand, he started to walk towards her. “Do you know who I am captain?” he inquired, locking his eyes with hers. Boswell shook her head from side to side, trying to save her skin, but all it did was make the warlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Now now captain.” he menacingly warned. “If there’s one thing in this world that I hate more than traitors, it’s liars.” He was right in front of her now, towering over her so much that the nearly couldn’t tilt her neck up enough to see his face. The flat of the cold steel knife was pressed into her jugular ever so lightly as he queried, “Last chance, do you know who I am?” _This is it. I’m dead. There’s nothing I can do._ Resigning herself to her fate, the witch looked away, tears of despair and fear rolling down her cheeks as she carefully nodded yes. _Hopefully it’s quick._

Then she felt something else entirely, something large and warm on her chin. “Look at me.” the warlock commanded. With stuttering breaths, Vivian looked at him, expecting any moment to be her last. Once he had her attention, the warlock began, “I want to make something perfectly clear. I don’t want to kill you captain. However, if you continue to act like this, I will not be responsible for the consequences. My friend back there and I have a little job to do, but we seem to have gotten lost along the way. We’d kindly appreciate some directions. So we can do it on less scary terms, I’m going to make you a deal. I’ll put away the knife and remove that gag, but in return, you’ll tell me everything I need to know, truthfully the first time, and not raise your voice above a whisper. What will it be? Will you cooperate, or will I have to operate?” At the last bit, he pressed the knife just a hair harder into the witch’s flesh, making his point clear, both literally and figuratively. The British witch closed her eyes once and slowly nodded. By the time she opened them again, the warlock was already putting the knife away in his right boot heel. Once her had that task done, he gently untied the gag and let it drop to the ground. “We’ll start with the simple things.” the warlock stated, his mood less focused on murder and more on being friendly. “For example, what’s your name captain?”

“Boswell. Vivian Boswell.” the witch answered. “How did you all manage to get past the front and all of our defenses?”

“He asks the questions.” one of the voices in the dark coarsely countered.

“It’s alright.” the warlock replied, raising his right hand to inject some peace and quiet. “She has a right to be curious. Long story short Vivian, we got through it all by being good at what we do. By the way, name’s Aaron.”

“Well Aaron,” Boswell began, finding a little bit of calm, “if you’re all so fucking perfect, why did you take me prisoner?”

With a cocked eyebrow and a smile, Divale chuckled, “I never said we were big P perfect. Sheesh.” He then nodded and added, “Very astute of you to notice that. I commend you.”

“You’re going to do something here aren’t you?” Vivian asked. “Let me guess, blow up the barracks as we sleep? Kill us all in one fell swoop?”

“Good guess, but wrong.” Aaron responded. “We don’t have enough explosives for that job. What we have enough for is to hit you all where it hurts, the aetheric fuel cells your Strikers use.”

“We’ll still be dangerous.” Boswell countered, gaining confidence.

“Oh believe me, I know just how deadly witch pilots can be on the ground.” Divale affirmed. “They can go toe to toe with the best of them, but it’s not their natural environment. Their shields don’t receive the same augmentative shield boosters that Land Strikers get. That said, you’ll be at a major disadvantage compared to everyone else. But enough about that, it’s time we get down to business.” He reached into his back right pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper with a series of numbers on it from one to twenty. Holding in front of her, Aaron took his left index finger and placed it on the first number. “Each one of these corresponds to a particular hanger.” he explained. Suddenly, he locked his yellow eyes onto hers and started to slowly move down the list with his finger. Vivian didn’t know what to think. _What in the hell kind of interrogation is this?_ His digited descent didn’t last long and he shoved the paper back into his pocket. Turning to face the shadows, he quipped, “They’re at hangers five, nine, eleven, thirteen, and nineteen. Let’s get going folks.”

Boswell’s jaw dropped in shock. _How did he know they were there? I didn’t tell him anything!_ “Wait!” she hissed, keeping to the agreement. “Hold on! How-”

Aaron cut her off by finishing her sentence for her by saying, “Did I know without having you say anything? Well, going from past experiences, you enemy witches have some sort of memory block. I have no clue whether it also functions as an alarm of sorts, but I didn’t want to take that chance. So instead of asking you directly, I merely traced my finger along the page and noted your reaction. Yes, you didn’t say a single word to me, but your eyes did. Thank you for your stellar cooperation captain.”

“Aaron! Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick! We’re on the clock and it won’t be long before they notice she’s been gone awhile!” one of the female voices rang out.

“You’re not going to-” Vivian blurted, scared that the arrangement was at an end.

“Like I said,” Aaron interrupted firmly, “I do not want to kill you, but leaving you free to go is a risk we can’t afford to take right now.” With that said, he reached for the witches belt and pulled a grenade off. Holding it close to his face, the warlock blew onto the pull pin. The thin aluminum glowed blue for but a moment and then reverted back to its original color. “Hold this for me.” he announced and then unceremoniously shoved it in between her breasts. Boswell was about to protest against such indecent treatment, but Aaron beat her to the punch. “You’ll be free to go once our job is done. Just to make sure that you don’t go blabbering off to anyone else, this grenade is primed to automatically go off if you try to scream your cute face off.” Finished, he gave her a salute and then turned to his comrades. “Okay ladies, it’s show time.”

***************

The Japanese lieutenant eyed her opponent, a German sergeant very carefully as she held the playing cards in her hand, looking for any sign of a tell. For the past hour, the two had been playing poker in the barracks to pass the time before they took their guard shifts and she’d been losing little by little with every hand. True, she got back at her a few hands in a row not too long ago, but the success was fleeting and the Japanese witch was down to her last few yen notes and they were all in the pot. When that failed to reveal anything enlightening, she looked down at the line of five cards. From left to right was king of spades, jack of hearts, nine of diamonds, ace of spades, and nine of clubs. In her hand, the witch had the nuts so to speak, dual kings, one of hearts and the other diamonds. _Let’s see… she raised before the flop, called my bet on the turn, and merely checked the river. What could she possibly have? Was it a busted flush? Two pair maybe?_ “Come on Misato.” the German quipped, stifling a yawn. “I know your people are renowned for their patience, but this is getting ridiculous. Hurry up and call. I might just have enough time to count my winnings before our shifts.”

Misato glared a hole through her and retorted, “I wouldn’t be so cocky Jutta. I’ve come back from the brink before and I’ll do it again.”

Jutta leaned in with a sly smile on her face and stated, “Then let’s finish this.”

Misato closed her eyes and decided. Slamming the cards on the table she proudly proclaimed, “Read them and weep! Three kings!”

Jutta cocked her eyebrows in surprise and pursed her lips. “And all this time I thought you had aces.” she admitted. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the two cards into the air and they landed on the pot, revealing a queen of hearts and a ten of clubs. “Yet all your kings can’t trump my straight. You lose lieutenant.”

“Fuck this game!” Misato yelled, throwing her hands up in the air and getting up angrily from her seat. Jutta watched her go and simply shrugged her shoulders. _What a sore loser._ Gazing at the pot, she smiled and began to reach for it, before a shadow fell over her, coming from her back.

“Splendid show of luck there sergeant.” an emotionless voice remarked. Turning around, Jutta looked up and her blood went cold as ice. Standing there, looking down like a school teacher would a misbehaving pupil was Matilda, her browns eyes regarding her with a mixture of suspicion and malice. “Or was it less luck and more of this?” she asked. Like a bolt of lightning, Matilda’s right hand grabbed Jutta’s right wrist and gave it a good shake. From the sleeve of the German’s uniform two cards flopped out onto the table. The sergeant simply sat there, dumbfounded as to how she knew that she had cheated. “I wonder how your friend there might react if I told her about this?” the tall African inquired.

“No! Don’t do that! Anything but that!” Jutta pleaded, her eyes wide with fright. “She’ll kill me!”

Matilda leaned in slowly and regarded the pile of ill gotten gains. “You’re going to go on shift in fifteen minutes with her. When that happens you’re going to tell her that you found some of the cards still in the box, making it so that you both were playing with an incomplete deck. The game doesn’t count and you hand over everything that you won from her, plus a bit extra on the side for her troubles. Got it?” she instructed. Jutta nodded and Matilda let go of her. Shaking her head from side to side, the witch walked away from the still frazzled pilot, brooding up a storm. _Such a disgusting display. Even among our own, we stab each other in the back when we should be stabbing the enemy in the heart._ Locating an empty chair in a corner, her shield and spear resting close by it, she sat down and looked out the window. The moon overhead cast a silvery white glow over everything it touched as it moved across the night sky. She was looking east, her vision locked on some of the tall escarpments and ridges far away. _Forty miles. Just forty miles away is the front. We can’t let this place fall. If they succeed in taking Tobruk, they’ll be able to cut across the desert to Benghazi, cutting off all our forces in the north. With any luck, we’ll stall them just long enough to bleed them dry, forcing them to hunker down until they get reinforcements. By the time that happens, so will we._ Done with reflecting, Matilda stood up and began to stretch when he wandering eyes beheld something that shouldn’t be there. A tiny piece of metal was twinkling out of one of the windows towards hanger eighteen, so small that it was the size of a pinhead, but her witch powers easily detected it. _Now this is strange._ Curious and suspicious, Matilda radioed control over her communicator. “Control this is Matilda. Have any patrols outside been the vicinity of hanger eighteen lately?”

*************

Vivian lost track of the time since the warlock and his team left and she couldn’t see her watch. Deep down, she really didn’t care about the hour, but how she was going to managed to get out of this situation. _He’s not going to get away with this! I need to get out of here, but I still can’t move. My only hope is that a random guard looks through the window and notices me. God I hope they’re not too late with the change over._ Suddenly, she heard the door open behind her and her heart leapt for joy. Eager to be rescued, Boswell whispered, “Before you do anything, sound the alarm, but do it quietly! We’re going to get attacked! The warlock is here with a demo team and they’re going right for the fuel cells! Hurry!”

“Is that so?” her rescuer commented in a low voice as soft footsteps advanced into the room. A few moments later, the British witch came face to face with Matilda who brandished her assagai menacingly. “It was my understanding that the location of those fuel cells was a closely guarded secret. How did he figure out where they were captain?”

“They already had the-” Vivian began to explain, but Matilda thrust her weapon forwards, the tip perilously close to the still frozen witch’s neck.

“You reek of lies.” Matilda growled. “You told them didn’t you?”

Sweat beaded on Boswell’s face and she started trembling. “I didn’t say a single word. I swear it.” she protested. “I don’t know how he-”

“The warlock is very good at inferring things from body language alone.” Matilda explained. “Though you didn’t say a thing, you’ve still betrayed us captain.”

“Please!” Vivian begged, tears rolling down her face. “He forced me to cooperate! I had no choice!”

Matilda had heard enough and stabbed the traitor through the throat. The blade went in clean and fast. The British witch didn’t scream in pain, only hacking for air as the cold steel blocked her oxygen flow. With a sharp twist, the executioner rotated the spear head, severing the jugular with ease. As the light of life slowly faded from Captain Vivian Boswell’s eyes, Matilda calmly pressed the stud on her comms.

*************

The finger of the dead witch spasmed, the tell tale sign of post mortem twitches as Juliette tossed the screwdriver to the concrete. The plastic and metal tool clanged upon earth fall, filling the hanger with a strange sound that seemed to circle around them like they were in the eye of a hurricane. Breathing in and out, she looked down at the front of her uniform. It was soaked in blood, a badge that she could’ve easily avoided. In her haste to eliminate the enemy, her grip slipped on the body and it twisted as the soon to be corpse fell, spraying blood from the wound. _Doesn’t really matter though. It all comes out in the wash._ She heard something behind her, something like a paintbrush being stroked over a canvas. Whipping her head around, Deveraux saw Aaron wiping his right wing against the hanger walls, making a portrait of crimson. There were two witches inside the hanger when they got to it, working on a Hellcat tank destroyer. The French witch took down one while Divale dealt with the other. Helga and Amelie went into the main office and took the lift down to the reinforced supply depot underneath the structure. As he cleaned his wing off, the warlock gazed at the dead woman, her chest awash with vitae from where he impaled her. Nothing but sadness and regret could be discerned within the darkness. _Don’t feel any remorse for what you had to do Aaron. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were going to blow this place up anyway. No amount of being merciful was going to change the outcome._ “You okay Aaron?” she asked.

Divale tried to look up at her, but his eyes couldn’t move much past the front of her uniform. A faint tremor pulsed through his right hand, lasting all but for a second, yet feeling like hours. _Why do you punish me like this God? What have I done to be reminded of my dear Lucretia?_ “Fine.” the warlock answered, stepping over the pool of blood. He tapped his comms and inquired, “You ladies just about done setting the explosives?”

“We’re done now.” Amelie answered. “We should be topside in about fifteen seconds.”

“Rodger that.” Aaron replied. “Divale out.”

“We made very good time all things considered.” Juliette plainly stated as she walked on over to him. “Five hangers rigged to blow in less than fifteen minutes.”

Divale looked at her and nodded silently. “The faster we get this done, the faster we can go home and-” he began to say, but his words caught in his throat and his eyes bulged until they looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. _Something feels wrong with the magic, like it stopped having an effect!_ “No way!” he hissed, practically running towards one of the windows that looked out towards where the captain was still held hostage. Peering out through the night, the warlock could make out a shaft of light that fell upon Vivian. Her head was downcast and immobile. Suddenly, another sight greeted his eyes, that of a spearhead moving up towards the pane at an angle. His vision picked out a face in the reflection, a darkened visage that seemed to look directly at him. Quicker than he ever though possible, Aaron ducked away and hissed into his communicator, “Get in the Hellcat! We’ve been had! We’ve got to go!” It was at that moment that the base alarm started to go off, the wailing siren screaming bloody murder. Helga and Amelie both emerged from the main office, legs pumping, and they ran up to the tank destroyer, as Aaron and Juliette scrambled to get inside. “Amelie, you drive! Helga’s got the radio! I got gun and Juliette’s machine gunner! Get this fucker started and roll out!” he commanded.

Everyone moved into position as Planchard hopped down into the drivers seat, the thin cushion giving little comfort. Frantically, she started to shift levers and crank shafts and started the tank. The engine sputtered and sputtered, but refused to turn. “Allez, putain, retournez (Come on you whore, turn over)!” Amelie swore, giving it another try. As if the vehicle was scared by her words, the Hellcat’s engine roared triumphantly to life. Slamming her right foot down on the accelerator, the tank destroyer shot forwards, causing her head to knock back into something soft, yet firm at the same time.

“Umphhhh!” Aaron grunted as his groin was assaulted by the back of the French witch’s skull. Lurching forwards, he commented to Planchard, “Regarde où tu balances ce truc (Watch where you’re swinging that thing)!” That was when he noticed the hanger doors were still closed and the tank was destroyer was speeding towards it. He unfurled his wings and created a circular dome over the open topped vehicle. “Brace!” he bellowed. A few seconds later, the vehicle slammed into and through the hanger, sending sheets of metal and planks of wood flying every which way. Peeking through his feathers, Aaron could see that the entire base was full of activity and witches were pouring out of the barracks like water from a sieve. Searchlights on top of the radio towers lit up and started panning upwards. “Light them up.” he ordered, training the 90mm main gun at the enemy and giving Deveraux a clear view. Juliette was the first to fire, the M2 spewing fifty caliber rounds through the air. Some of the pilots went down, riddled with holes or blown to chunks while other hit the deck, firing back at them with small arms fire.

“I’m blowing the charges!” she called out, fishing out the remote detonator out of her back pocket. Divale closed the breech with his right hand and fired. The sound was deafening and the front door to the barracks simply disintegrated, sending bodies and body parts backwards. His peripheral vision picked up something behind them and he whipped his head around to see a witch exiting hanger eighteen dressed in a white button up, running after them. Though they put a lot of distance between them and her, it looked like she was gaining on them. _No way in shit. That has to be a trick of the moonlight._ Suddenly, he heard a hard click and knew automatically that that was the detonator being pressed. As one, all the explosives that they had laid went off, shaking the ground. Hangers went up in balls of flame and smoke, burning debris falling from the sky like meteors, slamming into other structures. Some of the fury engulfed the pursuing witch and Aaron smiled. _Nice try, but your run ends h-_ His thought was rudely interrupted by a lithe shape emerging from the flames. Squinting his eyes, he could make out a cheetah, fangs bared and patches of the fur smoking. It roared in defiance and continued to close the gap. “Well that’s a neat trick.” Divale muttered as he started to quickly rotate the turret.

“Helga! Hand me more ammo!” Juliette cried out, sending more shots downwind. Von Kreiger kept as low as possible as she navigated the narrow confines of the turret towards the ammunition storage underneath the witch’s feet. With the warlock taking up most of the space, she had to crawl between his legs in order to get to the latched door. Then the turret started moving towards the rear of the vehicle as she was opening the door.

“Why are we aiming behind us?!” she asked at the top of her lungs. “The enemy is to the side!”

“I’ve got bigger fish to fry sergeant!” Aaron retorted as he rammed a HE shot home and closed the breech. Aiming the gun, he could see that the cheetah was now within thirty feet of the tank destroyer. _Dodge this bitch._ Divale fired and the round screamed through the air. It hit the ground just in front of the creature as he intended, but it leapt up into the air, morphing back into a human being in a way that looked like a ice sculpture melting in reverse. As she rematerialized, the cloth sling was being swung faster and faster and her brown eyes glowed with a killing frenzy. “Evasive maneuvers Amelie! Hold on people!” he roared. The tank destroyer violently swerved to the left just as the enemy witch let loose with her sling. Time seemed to slow down as three crackling and glowing stones the size of oranges got larger and larger the closer they came to the tank. Divale knew that he couldn’t afford to remove the protection for Juliette so he kept them exactly where they were. Two of the trio of aetherically charged rocks whizzed on past, skimming off the runway, but the third struck the right rear side of the Hellcat, embedding itself deep into the thin armor plating right above the tracks. The impact spun the vehicle like a top and Planchard desperately tried to regain control. They bled off much needed speed and the enemy witch threw her spear right at the warlock’s head. Leaning backwards as far as his double jointed spine could go, Aaron gritted his teeth and prayed that he did enough to avoid the attack. Steel dug into flesh as the spear head cut along the tip of his chin, his nose, and right up his forehead. Pain flashed and blood flowed, but Divale was still breathing and still seeing. _I made it!_

Amelie shifted more levers around and brought the feisty tank destroyer under control, just as she saw a spear fly over the front of the vehicle. _What the fuck is going on back there?_ Focusing on the task at hand, the fence that enclosed the perimeter was coming up fast. “I’m plowing through in 3, 2, 1!” she advised with emphasis. She leaned forwards towards the view slit and braced. With a metallic rattle, the fence bent and broke like twigs, the poles flatted under the treads. “Yes!!” she shouted, pumping her fists into the air and pleased with herself. They unexpectedly hit something hard and Aaron sucked in his breath as he took two hits to the kidneys.

***********

Matilda calmly watched the Hellcat speed away into the desert night as she walked over to where her spear had fallen and pulled the shaft upwards. The sound of metal on paved runway went unheard due to the still wailing sirens, the roar of fires, and the concussive booms of secondary explosions. Fire teams from off towards Tobruk were streaming in now, turning their hoses on the conflagration. Medics were attending to the wounded while the dead were simply left where they were. The witch noticed the blood of the warlock on the spear head and smiled. _It’s often said that if it bleeds, it can be killed. I underestimated you warlock, but I won’t again the next time we meet._ One of the medics rushed up to her and asked, “Are you injured ma’am?”

“If I was, I would’ve let you know.” Matilda sternly replied, walking past her without so much of a glance. She made a beeline for the pilots who were assisting the doctors and shouted, “They don’t need any help from you! Right now, the enemy is waltzing around in our back yard! Take to the skies and pursue them! Now!” Without any hesitation, the witch pilots obeyed and ran at full sprint towards their hangers, at least the ones that could still be entered. Turning away, Matilda activated her comms. “Control this is Matilda. Inform the escarpments south of the airfield that the enemy is trying to escape.” she ordered.

“Which escarpments?” the operator inquired.

Matilda’s reply was direct and to the point. “All of them.”

*****************

The wet rag felt good after such a close encounter with death as Aaron wiped the blood from his face. Once they breached the perimeter, Juliette had noticed his condition and gave him the cloth to clean himself up. Despite him saying that it was no big deal, the witch was insistent and Divale had no choice but to acquiesce to her wishes. _After all, I don’t want to get another witch trying to kill me tonight._ Taking away the cloth, he breathed a sigh of relief as the air whipped over his face and through his hair. “You still haven’t got all of it.” Deveraux pointed out, directing him to continue wiping his chin.

“It will do for now.” the warlock countered civilly, tossing the crimson stained rag back to the medic. “Besides, it was jut a scratch.”

“A scratch that came too close for comfort.” Juliette reminded, catching the cloth and shoving it into a spent 90mm shell casing. “If you shaved regularly, you might have got it all.”

Aaron ignored her and looked out into the desert, taking account of their surroundings. The Hellcat was racing along a relatively flat stretch of sand as Amelie took the long way around, not wanting to take a chance at hitting a land mine and ending the trip with a bang. A ridge loomed ahead of them some six miles off. _But which one?_ He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a map. Opening it up, Divale traced his right index finger along the original route of ingress and then slowly moved it from where they escaped and roughly estimated where they were. _We’re around the outer fringes of the defense line. Hopefully we have enough fuel to get this done or else we’re hoofing it._ Looking up towards the sky, he squinted in the darkness, seeing if he could pick up any fighters tailing them. _Nothing yet, but they’ll be here soon._ Turning his attention to Helga, he asked, “Have you raised HQ yet?”

A frustrated German face regarded him. “I haven’t be able to get the damn thing to work at all.” she fumed, running her hands through her hair.

“Maybe it got damaged from the fighting.” Planchard suggested, doing her best to keep her head forwards as to not bang into Aaron’s privates for the umpteenth time. “Or maybe those witches in that hanger didn’t get around to repairing it before we killed them.”

“Keep trying Von Kreiger.” Aaron ordered. “I need that radio up and running.” Once he did that, he looked down at the French witch in the drivers seat and advised, “Take us more into the shadows. We’ll hide our tracks better.”

“You sure?” Amelie inquired. “It will get bumpy.”

Divale then rapped his knuckles on his crotch, a rather solid clank and the grip of the pistol answering right back. “I know and I’m prepared.” he replied with a wink. “Alright people, listen up. We’re running silent for the rest of the way. Cloaking now.” he announced with a whisper. As he went to cast the spell, a strange feeling swept over him, a feeling that seemed to drain him somehow. _What the fuck is this?_

Suddenly, the long thought malfunctioning tank radio crackled to life, surprising Helga so much that she fell backwards out of her metal seat, the headphones slipping off the side of her head and dangling on the long black wire. Juliette went over to see if she was alright and a voice came over the airwaves. “Hello there my friends.” it ominously began. “I know you can here me out there so why don’t you be polite and pick up?” Aaron reached over and picked up the swaying headphones and placed them near his ears.

“We hear you.” he stated, hiding his concern well. “Who is this?”

“Ah, the warlock.” the voice proclaimed. “So this is how you sound. As for who I am, let’s just say that I’m wanting to settle a certain score with you.”

“You do know how little that narrows it down right?” Divale countered mockingly. After thinking about it a bit more, the image of the spear came to mind. “You wouldn’t happen to be party to the events at Dongola would you?” he asked.

“A hard target and thinker at the same time. How very unique.” the voice marveled. “Yes warlock. I was there and because of that amazing piece of deduction, let me introduce myself. I’m Matilda and I will see you humbled before the end.”

“Well Matilda,” the warlock replied with a mocking tone, “if you want to get that party of yours started, come on down. I know of a wonderful game we can play. I can be curiosity and you can be the cat.”

Chuckling rang in his ear as Matilda laughed. “It’s not my destiny to be killed by you, nor is it mine to end your life, at least at this point and time.” she uttered. “Now, let’s get to the terms of your surrender. You’re probably wondering why you can’t use any spells right now am I right? The truth is that the stone that’s currently buried deep in the rear of your vehicle contains a special metal that prevents creatures like yourself from projecting magic. You can’t dislodge it so don’t even try. It also tells me exactly where you are right now. Very important information for my fighters and the guns on that ridge you’re coming up on. I suggest you stop this useless resistance of yours and come on out with your hands over your head. I’ll see to it personally that you and your friends will be decently treated.” she demanded.

“Decently treated like Captain Boswell?” Aaron retorted.

“The dear captain made a grave error in judgment and had to be punished for her transgressions.” Matilda answered coldly. “I’ll ask you one last time warlock: Stop fleeing or my men start shooting. Don’t risk your friend’s lives. There’s no point. Surrender now.”

Aaron responded by pulling the pistol from the front of his pants and shooting the radio three times, the impacts sending pieces of plastic and sparks everywhere. “Fuck that bitch.” he muttered as he placed it back over his crotch after putting the safety on. “The mission proceeds as planned. Start throwing everything we don’t need overboard right now. I need this tin can much lighter.”

“What the hell are you planning on doing if you can’t use your magic?” Juliette inquired.

Divale turned and gave her a sly wink. “Improvising.” he said.

**************

The major on top of the ridge eyed the fast approaching Hellcat with his binoculars with rapt anticipation. All the guns were trained on the vehicle, watching and waiting to see if they would take the surrender terms. Though he had no problem with taking prisoners, deep down, the officer wanted, no, wished to unleash the full power at his disposal. _It would send a clear message to the Allies: Come in here and you’ll get destroyed. Every ridge from here to the front is like Halfaya Pass, except this time crewed with real troops instead of those throwaway conscripts._ He heard footsteps behind him, but paid them no mind. The major already knew who it was. “Report captain.” he muttered, still watching the tank destroyer whiz through the sand dunes.

“Sir,” the captain began, “we have just been ordered to take it out when it passes within range of the 88’s.”

The news made the major cock an eyebrow and regard his subordinate with his full attention. “This is confirmed?” he inquired, not wanting to get his hopes up just yet.

“It come straight from the mouth of Matilda herself sir.” the captain answered.

 _The mistress’s own bodyguard said this? Then this must be official. There’s no way this can be misinterpreted. Lucky me. I guess this night’s going to be good after all._ “Excellent.” the major replied smiling and putting his binoculars away. “Inform the men to prepare to fire on my command.” The captain saluted and quickly sped off, barking at the assembled troops to prepare. As he did so, the major looked back down at the fleeing tank destroyer getting closer and closer to the point of no return. _Are they crazy or just in that much of a hurry to die? Matters not though._ He raised his right hand, a clear signal to the men to get ready. The seconds ticked away as slow as a summer day, making the major agitated. Finally, the Hellcat crossed the threshold and the major cast down his hand as if he was trying to swat a fly. Artillery opened up, shaking the earth and causing loose pebbles and sand to tumble down the ridge. Shell tracers streaked across the sky and the major tracked them with his eyes. Calculating the trajectory, he rubbed his hands with glee as the rounds descended. _Perfect salvo right on top of them. Even if there’s no direct hit, the splash will make mincemeat of them._ Suddenly, something happened that the enemy officer did not intend. Though the distance separating the two forces was half a mile away, he could pick up the appearance of two magnificent white wings unfurling from one of the occupants. With one fluid motion, the shocked major witnessed the Hellcat coming off the ground and quickly gained altitude. His legs gave out and he fell clumsily on his rump still aghast. _What is this? A flying tank?_

*****************

The artillery salvo slammed into the earth, a surface that was getting further and further away, something that Amelie did not like whatsoever. “Go back down!” she screamed. “Go back down! I hate heights!”

“Sorry! Can’t hear you over the explosions!” Aaron shouted back, his two hands firmly on her shoulders to make sure that she didn’t move an inch from her seat. _Have to make sure that she stays in the tank and not destroy my cock as well._ He flapped his wings one more time and peeled to the right at a small angle, gaining more altitude and making them a smaller target. When he told them the plan, everyone in the Hellcat looked at him like he was crazy. _Can’t really blame them. I mean, who in their right or wrong mind would tie off his legs to the ammo rack with the tow cable and fly this thing like a plane?_ However, with no other options on the table, they jettisoned everything that could be thrown out. Ammo, fuel, the fire extinguisher, the broken radio, if it had no use, it went. Keeping one eye on the ridge, Divale used the other to check on the rest of his team. Helga used most of the headphone cord to tie her legs around the single pole of her stool seat and got stuck in underneath the small mantle where the radio formerly rested. As for Juliette, there was no such comfort and merely held onto the machine gun for dear life.

“Why the fucking hell did we agree on this?!” Deveraux cried out as the enemy guns fired again. The warlock saw them coming and dove and rose quickly, an improvised scissors without a bogey behind them. More shells sped by, the heat from their passing feeling just as bad a Neuroi beamer.

“Because I outrank you, that’s why!” Aaron retorted, gritting his teeth as he tried to level out the aerodynamically unfit tank destroyer.

“Pah!” Helga scoffed from under her mantle. “That’s quite funny coming from you who! Don’t you always remind us that rank doesn’t matter!”

“Everybody stop fucking yelling!” Planchard roared from the driver’s seat. “You’re not helping!”

“Alrighty then.” Divale replied, his voice much lower now. Whipping his head around, he noticed that they had put quite a bit of distance between them and the guns. “Looks like we’re out of range.”

“For that ridge yes.” Juliette pointed out. “But as soon as we get into range of the others-”

“We won’t.” the warlock interjected. “Now that we’re airborne, we’ll simply bypass the defenses and loop deep south. They won’t even be able to touch us. From what I can figure, we should be within ten minutes of our skirmisher lines. Once we get past that, we’ll be able to use our normal comms.”

“And maybe, we won’t have to do any more high flying maneuvers.” Von Kreiger quipped.

“Yes please.” Amelie chirped.

Juliette let the tension go from her muscles and readjusted her grip. Looking out into the night, she could see the moon clearly, the craters reminding her of the blasted hellscape that was her homeland a few months ago. _But it’s all better now._ The moment she thought that, something moved just askew of the moon. _Oh shit!_ “Aaron! We’ve got company at six o clock!” she warned at the top of her lungs.

“How many can you see?” Divale inquired.

“I can’t make them out very well.” the French witch admitted, fumbling for her binos. “There might be a squadron or two on our tail.” She put them to her face and peered through the lenses. The moon swerved forth and back as Aaron started to yaw in either direction to give her some more angles to look at. The tactic paid off as Juliette made out more than just a squadron or two’s worth of black silhouettes. _Three, four, five. Holy fuck. How many did they send?_

“How fucked are we?” Divale stated, ceasing his wiggling.

“Five at least.” Deveraux replied, putting her binos away.

“And they’re probably armed with cannons.” Helga groaned.

The warlock licked his lips and started to think. _Ain’t this fucking dandy. Five squadrons behind us and no weapons to drive them away. Can’t use my magic and I have to keep Amelie secured. Got no choice but to outrun them. This is going to hurt._ “Both of you,” he ordered to the witches, “grab my legs and loop yourselves around the tow cable. Hold on tight.” He looked over at Von Kreiger and they moved into position and cocked his eyebrow.

The German caught the jest of it and nodded. “I’ll be fine Aaron. I’m not going anywhere.” she replied.

Soon, Aaron felt two pairs of hands grab onto his pants and twenty fingers dig into his flesh to find purchase. “Easy there.” he joked. “I’m not that kind of guy.” He looked behind him and saw the enemy closing in, the moonlight glinting off their weapons. “You want me bitches?!” he dared. “Come and get some!” Apparently, the enemy witches didn’t take too kindly to being called names like that and started to open fire. In response, Divale dove hard, causing Planchard to scream her head off and curse him in every language she knew. Ignoring her, Aaron concentrated on his his descent and noticed that they were coming up on a large swath of sand dunes. _Perfect_.

***********

“Got any sixes?” the private asked, hoping that he picked the right card this time.

The other private across from him took a quick look down at his hand, though he really didn’t need to and answered, “Go fish.”

Grumbling, the dejected soldier reached for the deck of cards and drew another. He added it to his already substantial hand and counted the number of books his opponent had compared to his. _Bloody hell. At this rate, he’ll clean house._ As he awaited his skirmish line partner to make a decision, his ears picked up a distant booms like thunder. His friend heard it too and both of them immediately put down their hands and picked up their rifles. On their stomachs, they crawled up to the dune crest and looked out to where the sound was coming from. Far off into the distance, a good seven miles away, a series of fireballs and sand plumes could be seen rising up into the air. Knowing what to do, one of the men started to look out of his binos while the other worked the radio. “This is Watch Team Gamma calling HQ. Repeat Watch Team Gamma calling HQ. Over.” the private hailed.

“This is HQ Watch Team Gamma. Report. Over.” the operator on the other end replied.

Watching his comrade made hand gestures, McGovern relayed the information. “HQ we have five witch squadrons moving low in and around the dunes moving close to sector B5. They’re packing some serious firepower. Over.”

“Understood Watch Team Gamma.” HQ stated. “I’m hearing explosions out there. What are they firing at? Over.”

“We can’t really see what they’re shooting at HQ. Trying to get a visual now. Over.” the private said. Then his go fish partner removed his binos, eyes wide as the full moon high above and made a single gesture that had McGovern question if the man had gone insane. “HQ we have a visual on the target. It’s a tank destroyer, a Hellcat to be precise, that is, and I kid you not HQ, flying. Over.”

A long silence ensued punctuated by more detonations until HQ responded. “With due respect Watch Team Gamma, are you drunk? Over.”

************

The pain in Aaron legs was excruciating, the weight of the close to nineteen ton machine he was tied down to stretching the muscles, ligaments, and tendons to the point where he could feel some tearing going on. His vision blurred from the agony, the night looking more scarlet than bluish gray, but he gritted his teeth and bore the brunt of the misery. Veering hard left across a sand trench between two dunes, Divale avoided another barrage of cannon fire from the witches that were still pursuing him like sharks that picked the scent of blood. The impacts kicked up pounds of vitrified sand into the Hellcat interior, showering over everyone. _Great, more weight is exactly what I need. Thanks a lot Sand-ta._ “Is anyone picking up anything?! Anything at all?!” he asked as he made another quick turn in the opposite direction.

“I still have nothing!” Helga shouted back, straining to keep herself still as the tank destroyer bucked like a bronco.

“Keep trying!” Amelie yelled, digging her fingernails that much deeper into the warlock’s left calf.

Juliette looked back up towards the sky and saw the enemy bearing down on the them from two angles. “Multiple bogeys incoming!” she warned. “Two and ten o clock level!”

“I see them!” Aaron replied, coming up to what looked like the end of the line. “Doing a barrel roll!”

“Noooooo!” Planchard bellowed, but her pleas fell on deaf ears as Aaron pulled up and rolled up and over the crest of the sand dune. Though the hair on his head grazed the slightest bit of sand grains as they passed, he executed it perfectly. However, it exposed that much more of the tank destroyer and the witches above them let loose with their weapons. Heavy caliber bullets struck every side, a lucky few slamming hard into Divale’s back, but his shields held, but just barely.

As he leveled out and dove into another trench, the warlock muttered, “I can’t take much more of this! We might have to ditch the bitch!”

“Are you insane?!” Von Kreiger retorted. “We have no cover out here and you can’t use your magic to help us! You need to go on!”

In the middle of all this, Juliette kept quiet and continued to hold Aaron’s right leg for all it was worth. _God get us out of this._ Then she smelled something familiar. _Gasoline_. Looking over at the auxiliary fuel tank, Deveraux could see the fuel leaking out of a quarter sized hole. _Oh shit! If a stray round hits that again, we’re toast. I have to plug it up with something, but what?_ The answer came faster than Divale was flying and she grimaced. _I don’t want to do this, but I have to._ She looped her legs around Aaron’s foot and started to take off her panties. Divale noticed the shift in grip and looked down, just as she removed them. “What the fuck?!” he cried out, not truly believing what he was seeing.

“We sprung a leak in the gas tank! Another hit there and boom! Our flight is over! Keep her steady!” Juliette ordered as she slowly crawled to the ruptured tank, using the two cable as a lifeline.

“Easy for you to say!” Divale countered. “You’re not towing nineteen fucking tons of metal!”

Gasoline soaked the front of Deveraux’s uniform, the odor sharp and heavy. _Just a bit closer…_ Another flop and she was there. With her left hand holding the cable, she used the right to shove her panties into the hole. It staunched the flow effectively and she smiled, but then Aaron had to make a hard left and she lost her grip on the cable. Juliette yelled out as her body was thrown about. Aaron however was prepared and immediately put his hand down without looking, making her come to a complete stop. “Aaron!” Helga called out. “The witches are abandoning the pursuit! We made it!”

Aaron let out a sigh of relief and slowed down. “Thank Christ. I’m setting down now.” he stated. With tired grace, he decelerated and gently touched down. Divale then used his wings to cut the cables around his legs and slumped to the left hard, his body clanging off the metal and sending droplets of gasoline into the air. His legs burned and he started to breath heavily from exhaustion. _We did it again. Another impossible job down._ “Everyone okay?” he wheezed.

“All good.” Helga uttered, emerging from under her shelf and getting out a knife to cut the cord.

“Besides being scared shitless, I’m o-” Amelie began, but when she looked at Divale her face got beat red. “Oh dear Lord Aaron. What are you doing?”

“Doing what?” the warlock asked, clearly confused. Planchard pointed at his left hand and he followed his shoulder down to the arm and finally ending at his left hand, fingers splayed out and pressing firmly on Juliette’s exposed rear end. The look on her face made it clear to him that she was wholly embarrassed. Quickly withdrawing his hand, Aaron started to profusely apologize. “I am so so very sorry! I didn’t to see where my hand went, I swear!”

“It’s alright,” Deveraux calmly assured, her face still red. “I forgive you, but if you do that again,” She then reached out and wrapped her left hand around the pistol grip that the warlock left in his pants and flicked the safety off. “We are going to have problems.”

“Never again! Never again!” Divale repeated, his words coming out faster than bullets from a machine gun.

“Good.” the French witch replied, putting the safety back on. “Now let’s get you patched up.”

*************

Marseilles took another drag from her water pipe and held in the smoke before exhaling slowly, the fragrant fumes curling away from her mouth. _So he managed to pull it off. And without any casualties. He’s good at getting out of these situations and getting the fucking praise for it._ It was then that she looked down at the stone that she had Pottgen recover from the Hellcat, the energies within still visible along the polished surface. _This kept him from using his magic. Maybe one day I might have a use for this._ The German witch smiled as she leaned back in her chair. _And when that day comes, I’ll be the one to reap the benefits._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hard days work, Aaron and Murphy learn from Edytha that the Italian War Ministry had sent out a distress signal, secretly asking for two members of the 31st to get some of their spies out of a remote establishment near Derna and lend support for a high priority mission. With Neumann along for the ride, they involve themselves in what seems like an easy job, but what they find out later is far from simple.

**_ **Chapter XIV: Arabian Knights** _ **

_This man perplexes me. There’s no way his nation’s armed forces would accept someone that short or that young. He had to have lied about his age somehow. Still, if Murphy could survive Gotland, he might just live through this too._

Diary Entry April 14th 1944

Audie pulled the trigger on the PIAT and watched the projectile get launched through the air towards the pillbox door. He quickly ducked back down behind the pile of dead bodies and brought his Thompson out. Not even a second later and an explosion rocked the air, sending smoke and sand over his head. Taking a chance, Murphy cautiously poked his head up to get a look at the damage. Squinting his eyes through the smoke, he could barely make out the door, or at least what was left of it. The center took the brunt of the damage, the reinforced steel plating bent inwards with a slight curl. Bits of concrete had been blown off as well, turning the once smooth sides a jagged mess. Knowing that he had no time to waste, the American scrambled to his feet and ran up to the closest wall, keeping his head down lest a possible survivor took a potshot at him. _An explosion that close would make them deaf for a bit. Though not likely, don’t take the chance._ He slid up against the pillbox wall, directly underneath two firing slits. Quickly grabbing two grenades from his belt, Audie gently pulled the pins out so as to keep the element of surprise, counted down for two seconds, and then jammed them hard through the openings. Hunkering back down, he crouched walked towards the entrance. Four steps later, the grenades went off and Murphy used that as a distraction to leap through the hole in the door. He hit the ground and shouldered rolled up to the far wall. Springing back up to his feet, he saw three men holding their ears, blood pouring down their faces from ruptured ear drums. They didn’t realize he was inside and for a brief moment, Audie felt pity for them. _Under normal circumstances you’d all be prisoners and get treated for your wounds. Unfortunately, these aren’t normal circumstances and my orders are clear._ He pulled the trigger and hosed the whole clip over the enemy trio. .45 caliber bullets, hit again and again, crimson spraying into the air. Within two heartbeats, it was over and the men were no longer among the living.

After checking the rest of his surroundings, Murphy exhaled slowly, calming his raging heart. “Aaron? This is Murphy. Can you hear me? Over.” he radioed over his comms.

“I hear you Murphy.” Divale radioed back. “What’s your status? Over.”

“Just cleared out another pillbox, but my squad is gone. I need extraction at grid H5 ASAP. Over.” Audie answered.

“Underst-” the warlock began, but something caused him to break mid word. “Whoa now, hold the fuck on. You’re in grid H5? How the fuck did you manage to pierce that far?”

“Because I’m good at what I do?” the American suggested sheepishly.

“Alrighty then Murphy. Sit tight. I’ll be there in a hot minute. Divale out.” Aaron concluded.

Audie killed the link and let himself slide down the wall and onto the ground. The feeling of sitting down was glorious for his nerves, but he knew of another way. Reaching into his right breast pocket, he pulled out his flask and screwed the cap off. As he put it to his lips, Murphy smiled at Aaron’s surprise when he told him about where he was. _When you’re attached to Monty’s group, anything five feet past the front lines without followup would be a shock._ After Divale’s foray at the airfield near Tobruk, the Allies launched a powerful offensive along the coast, battering through the defenses. Both generals took the lead in the attack and used all available squadrons to pin down any reinforcements along the escarpments that laid further on. Due to the 31st’s efforts, enemy air cover and support was practically nonexistent and the foe’s witches could do nothing but watch helplessly as Tobruk fell under siege. Three days worth of bloody close combat ensued, the attackers and defenders fighting nose to nose, tooth and nail for every inch of ground. In the end, the flag of the enemy was torn down. Tobruk, it’s supplies, and everything else it entailed, capitulated, the foe slinking off into the dead of night. Wanting to keep them on the run, both now torn between two front now, Rommel and Montgomery split the army with the German taking the desert route towards Benghazi in an attempt to completely cut off the entire north while the Brit would advance along the coast towards Derna. For the past four days, the eastern front crawled forwards, encountering dogged resistance. _It’s almost summer now. Back home, I’d be sitting by the water with a beer in my hand, listening to the wind whistle through the trees._

Three hard knocks on the cored steel door outside, brought his mind out of Texas and back into Libya. “You in there Murphy?” Aaron’s voice rang out.

“I’m here Aaron.” Audie replied, relieved.

Divale grabbed either side of the wide circle that the PIAT created and wrench hard to the right. With a hard bang, the hinges keeping the door in place snapped and were ripped from the concrete frame. With a heave, the warlock flung the door like a discus away into the desert and calmly walked in, wings fluttering. He panned his head left and right and uttered a low whistle. “Nice shooting Tex.” he remarked, surveying the carnage. “I knew you did some fantastic work at Dover, but fuck me. Save some for the rest of us.”

“Why? So you can claim the glory?” the American mocked, putting his capped flask away and getting to his feet. “How did you fare?”

“Average.” Aaron admitted. “And by that I mean hardly at all. Barely scratched A7 before we had to pull back. Everyone else had the same issues. I might be wrong, but you probably made the most progress out of the entirely of the squadron.”

“So that means I get a break?” Murphy inquired, walking with Divale out of the opening.

“Pah!” the warlock scoffed. “You’ll be lucky to get a smoke in before you’re sent out again.” He held out his right hand and let Audie grasp it firmly before lifting off the ground.

After the earth started to get farther and farther away, Murphy began to wonder if there was something more to what Aaron said. “You really think it will be straight on in?” he asked. “Even after all the shit we pulled today?”

“Now what I’m about to say Audie I want you to keep quiet on.” Aaron warned. “To be honest with you, I think Monty is using us as his battering ram so he can charge on through with minimal losses. I don’t mind if it’s once or twice a day, but when it’s five or six times, that I do mind. It’s going to wear us out and someone’s going to pay the price, but our vaunted Star of Africa just laps up whatever the general is serving like a starving cat in front of a saucer of milk. Dumb bitch can’t even see that he’s just pandering to her ego.”

“Careful there lieutenant.” the American warned, tapping his comms. “She could be passively listening in. It’s all linked after all.”

Divale chuckled while pulling out his communicator out of his right ear and presenting it to Murphy. “An explosion washed over me a bit the moment I cut the link with you. Got my wings and shields up in time, but the heat cooked the circuits. It not even useful as a paperweight now. See if you can radio Marseilles and let her know where we are.” he explained.

Audie did as he was told and started to dial in the frequency, but a voice that he hadn’t heard in a good while started to transmit, “Staff Sergeant Murphy? This is Air Commander Neumann. Where are you?”

“I’m currently RTBing with Lieutenant Divale from H5. ETA six minutes.” Murphy answered.

“Alter course immediately to grid A3, have Aaron make you both invisible, and turn off your comms. Make your way to my tent. You will know you have the right one when you see the 31st flag over it. Go inside and close the flaps after you walk in. This is a direct order.” Edytha demanded.

 _Sector A3? Why the hell are we going there?_ “Understood ma’am, but why are we being sent there? Does Lieutenant Marseilles know about this and should I tell-” Murphy asked but was cut off at the last minute.

“That’s a negative staff sergeant.” Neumann interjected. “She is not to know of your whereabouts whatsoever. Get here ASAP and maintain radio silence. Neumann out.”

As the link died, Audie looked up at Aaron who looked back down at him with a very confused look on his face. “Why does she not want Hanna to know where we are?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Divale replied, shaking his head. “But I can tell you that if she’s ordering it, it’s got to be serious business.

***************

Edytha took another sip from her glass of cold tea ad relished every drop as the ice cold liquid washed down her dry throat, the ice cubes within the vessel clinking against the glass. “Nothing like something cool to drink in a place and time like this one.” she whispered to herself after placing back down on the cork coaster on the small table she sat at. In front of her were two empty chairs with two equally empty glasses and a full pitcher of iced tea, sweating like a whore in church. Absentmindedly, Neumann gazed at her watch and calculated when and where they both could be right now. _Hmm. Knowing Aaron, he would speculate that this would be something very important and would try to use a bit of his magic to go faster. So if that’s the case, the gents should be arriving right about now._ As soon as she completed that thought, the sounds of booted feet on sand reached her ears. Looking out towards the front of the open tent flaps, the air commander could see footprints in the sand, but no bodies that could possibly make them. They came closer and closer, crossing the threshold within seconds. The flaps fell down and and ropes started to crisscross into knots, securing the fabric. Once the bonds were good and tight, Aaron and Audie materialized into the real world, casting off a slight shimmer as the spell faded. “Very nice timing gentlemen.” she commented as the pair looked around. “Please have a seat. Take a load off and get something cool to drink.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Divale responded, eager to rest. Murphy was less enthusiastic, but politely removed his helmet and nodded in thanks. They sat down, sighing in relief and poured themselves generous portions of iced tea into their glasses. Murphy took his glass up and placed it right against his forehead, feeling the condensation run down his face. The warlock did the same and muttered, “If I was a desperate man, I’d pay good money to have this done to me every hour on the hour.”

The American took a big gulp of liquid and smacked his lips. “Now that’s very good tea Air Commander Neumann. Thank you very much.”

“Only the best for the best.” Edytha stated proudly. She then leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table, and inquired, “So how are you two holding up?”

“Tired and frayed at the edges.” Aaron answered. “Nothing we haven’t experienced before though. We’ll adjust.”

Neumann nodded. _Standard reply. Safe yet effective._ “Let me rephrase the question. How are you two really holding up?” she reiterated.

“Off the record?” Audie asked. When he got the affirmative from the German witch, the American started to spout off. “We’ve been sucking dry air, blood, smoke, and sand for seven days straight with hardly a break. I wake up in pain and go to bed worse. Nothing is helping. We need time off the lines and for General Montgomery to stop sending for us every time he sees an enemy soldier shit in a foxhole. It’s getting way out of hand. He’s running us all ragged.” he concluded.

The air commander then looked over at the warlock who took one quick glance over at the American and then back at her before answering, “What he said.” He took a sip from his drink and stated, “Now while all this is fine and dandy, I’m pretty sure that you didn’t have us change course and go dark just for a chat and tea. What’s really going on Edytha?”

“Officially, I told your superior that you’d both be going on a humanitarian mission at Halfaya Pass, reconstructing the roads to allow civilians better access.” Edytha responded. “Unofficially, you both are going to do the exact same thing, except along different lines. She reached underneath her seat and brought up a folder that had been taped there. “Two hours ago, me and the general received a heavily encrypted message from the Italian War Ministry in Rome with orders to make this information known to as few people as possible. It would appear that our friends on the continent have been very busy little bees. While our offensives have garnered the bulk of the media attention, the Italians have been quietly conducting multiple island hopping operations in the Aegean Sea. Using Cyprus as their initial base of operations, they have successfully liberated Crete and many surrounding key points. Their most recent scheme has however hit a snag.” she continued, opening it up.

“How so?” Aaron inquired, very interested to see where this was going.

Neumann pulled out two pieces of paper and a small ring engraved with an image of Apollo riding his chariot along the band. “In order to carry out the operation, they needed to send two agents undercover to these coordinates here.” she explained, pointing to one of the pages. “Radio contact has been sporadic at best and they fear that they might be in trouble. They have requested two individuals to commence a search and rescue operation immediately. In addition to saving their people, you must also help them in whatever else they have planned for you.”

“I wouldn’t hold out much hope for them.” Divale pointed out sadly.

“I know what you’re saying lieutenant, but you both are going to do this.” Edytha countered.

“Why us air commander?” Murphy pondered. “It makes no sense for us to go when there are better candidates available.”

“Nonsense staff sergeant.” the witch retorted, slightly disappointed by his reasoning. “You two are the perfect fits for the job. You have shown to all of us how good of a soldier you really are and we are immensely proud of you.”

“Well now, I really wouldn’t go that far.” Audie replied, a bit red in the face.

“Murphy just take the compliment like a man and nod.” Aaron retorted. “What about me?” he asked, directing the question at Neumann.

“In regards to you Lieutenant Divale,” Edytha elaborated, “they requested that one of them be you.”

The warlock cocked his eyebrow and furrowed his brow. “Now why would they do that?” he asked.

“Because lieutenant, the agents involved have a direct connection to you and your old squadron.” Neumann answered.

At that moment, the chilled glass in Aaron’s hand felt hot as his blood went colder than any iced beverage known to man. _Oh fuck! If it involves Italy than Lucchini is suspect number one and wherever she is, Shirley isn’t far behind! I’ve got to save them!_ Divale tipped the glass back and drained it within two seconds. Practically slamming it back down on the table, he got up and barked, “Finish up Murphy and let’s get this show on the road!” Glancing over at the air commander, he queried, “Where do those coordinates lead?!”

“From what our intelligence networks can gather, twenty miles WSW of Derna at the crossroads of two main through fares.” the witch replied. “You’ll need this other sheet as it tells you how to contact them without arousing suspicion.”

“With utmost respect Air Commander Neumann, fuck that.” the warlock firmly retorted. “Those are my friends out there and I’m going to go in all guns blazing.”

“As much as they are your friends Lieutenant Divale,” the German officer emphatically shot back, rising out of her chair slowly, “I’m your superior and you will be doing this my way. And to make sure you do do this my way, I’m going with you.”

***************

Aaron shifted course slightly towards the south as he and his comrades flew across the desert with nothing but the small amount of stars to guide them. Night had fallen fast and it made him even more worried. _I really hope they’re okay. What are you talking about Aaron?! Of course they’ll be okay. They’re strong women, they can handle things. Still, you have to really think about it don’t you? The possibility that could already be turned. Could you-_ He shook his head violently, throwing the thought out of his mind and instead concentrating on making sure that his grip on his friends was secure. Holding Divale’s left hand was Edytha, her Strikers turned off as the sound would alert anyone with half a brain that a witch was present. Off on his right was Murphy, using his free hand to look through his binoculars, tracing them along the well worn road many miles below them. “From what I can tell, we should be right on track.” the soldier reported.

“And if that’s the case, we should be coming up on it in about a few minutes.” Neumann deduced.

“Good.” the warlock stated flatly. “The sooner the better.”

Both the witch and man felt his hands squeeze theirs just a little more, indicating to them that he was very tense. “Don’t worry about it Aaron.” Audie tried to assure. “They’ll be alright.”

“I hope so Murphy.” Aaron replied. “I really don’t want to think about what I’ll have to do if they’re not.”

“Just concentrate on the mission at hand.” Edytha suggested. “It helps.”

 _Speaking of help._ “Um lieutenant?” the American asked. “I know that this probably isn’t the right time to talk about this-”

“And it isn’t, but you’re asking me anyway.” Divale countered, breaking his friend off mid sentence. “What is it?”

“Nothing too bad, just something that happened a few days ago between me and Sergeant Von Krieger.” Murphy explained.

Two heads looked over at him and two sets of eyes widened in shock, though to be fair Aaron’s orbs were more curious than Edytha’s who regarded him with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. “Did I hear what I thought I heard come out of your mouth Staff Sergeant Murphy?” the witch inquired in a serious tone.

“Don’t get the noose ready yet sheriff. He’s yet to give us the all important details. Explain.” Divale advised.

“Well, shortly after we took down Tobruk, we all get sent to the rear for some rest. I’m spent and I simply crawl into my tent and collapse on my sleeping bag. Don’t even take my boots off or nothing. Just face plant right into my pillow. Just as I was ready to doze off, I hear someone else coming into my tent. I don’t even have time to turn to look before Helga plunks herself right next to me. I’m shocked and a little bit concerned because I’m thinking to myself ‘This could be bad if someone sees something like this’. So I make the right move to try to wake her up, but I find out she’s out cold.” Audie began.

“Which then put you in the classic bind of not wanting to get in trouble versus not wanting to be the asshole.” Aaron pointed out.

“Anything else?” Neumann asked, her mind dialed into the conversation.

“I go to sleep for a bit and wake up at the same time she did. She noticed me there and asked why I was in her tent to which I replied that no, take a good look around. This is my tent. Helga goes beet red with embarrassment and apologizes to which I say it’s fine, you looked like you needed the rest so I let you. You did nothing wrong. I’m not going to kick someone out when they really need help. That was when she smiled at me and said thank you before getting up and leaving.” Murphy continued.

“Hmmm. Sounds kosher so far.” Neumann figured.

 _Why do I find that particular comment funny?_ “I guess that was the end of it huh?” Divale assumed.

“Not exactly.” Audie meekly stated.

“I’m starting not to like where this is going staff sergeant.” Edytha warned.

“The strangest thing is that after dinner she came back. We sit down and shoot the shit for a bit, talking about our pasts and all the things that happened back in England. One thing led to another and soon we were both half naked kissing and cuddling in the sack. And that’s all we did, I swear on my mother’s grave.” the American finished.

“You do know that such fraternization between service members while on active duty is a direct violation of section-” the air commanded started to recite, but Aaron yawed hard to left, killing the conversation.

“Pardon the interruption, but I really have to say something about this.” the warlock quipped. “Before you throw the book at him Edytha, let’s go over some facts shall we? Edmund and Wilma share a tent and I’m pretty that everyone knows about how I’m in over my head as it were with Tatiana.”

“In the case of the Peterboroughs, they’re married. Such a thing is to be expected. As for you, though technically a violation, Ms Nabakov is a civilian. That fact and that fact alone excuses you.” Neumann retorted. She gestured with her head towards Audie and went on, “This case is very different and will be treated as such.”

“You may not know Audie from Adam there air commander, but I do. He’s a straight shooting guy and a damn good soldier. So is Helga. You really want to press charges on them now when we still need them so badly? And if you did, it wouldn’t reflect well punishing a key player in the liberation of Dover Castle and another individual who’s trying to make wrong right in an effort to save her skin. Trust me when I say that Lieutenant Marseilles has a way with who knows what in regards to the press and Raisa would be only to happy to oblige because the blowback would hit them too. We’ll keep it quiet.” Aaron pressed.

“You honestly expect me to turn a blind eye to his behavior?” Neumann inquired, glaring a hole through Divale’s skull

“It wouldn’t hurt if you did.” Aaron countered with a small shrug of his shoulders.

The witch looked at Murphy who who swallowed in fear as she looked deep into his eyes, searching for any kind of falsehood. After a few seconds, she sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’m going to trust you both to keep this on ice, but if I hear word getting out about this, I’m not going to protect either of you. Understand Staff Sergeant Murphy?” she declared.

“Yes ma’am.” Audie replied, relieved that he wasn’t going to get grilled more.

“I see something down below. Pretty much right near the coordinates.” Aaron announced, gesturing with his neck towards the earth many miles below them. Again, Murphy fished out his binos to have a look at what the warlock was talking about. Though the darkness didn’t help much, the American could make out several pinpricks of light.

“He’s right. This could well be the place air commander.” Audie stated.

“I believe you.” Neumann replied. “Set us down behind that dune there. We can change into our disguises once we land.”

****************

“Alright soldiers, listen up.” Edytha quietly announced as she put on the finishing touches on her hijab. “Aaron will do the talking and Audie will be the contact. As for me, I must be silent and only speak when instructed as per cultural norms around here. The instructions say to sit in the booth at the far back on the right. When they approach and ask where did you get that ring, you respond with it fell from the sky. We get out and hunker down somewhere safe and proceed with their mission. Any questions?”

“What if we’re not admitted?” Murphy asked, shifting a bit uncomfortably in his shoes.

“Then we simply present a case to where we would be.” Divale replied, donning his glasses. “Hopefully that won’t happen, but I have something that can get us in if need be.”

“Anything else?” Neumann inquired. When no one said anything more, she secure her veil so that nothing but her eyes could be seen and instructed, “Lead on lieutenant.” With that, the warlock started to walk up and over the sand dune, Murphy right by his side. After waiting for them to get at least a few feet away from her, the air commander followed suit. _I sure hope these disguises work. We didn’t exactly have a whole lot of time to get measurements done. Thank God that Aaron can sew on the fly._

Aaron crested the dune first and thus became the first of the group to observe where the agents had been hiding out at. It was a squat yet very wide one story stone building with wide open windows and vibrant light and sound pouring out of them. Numerous vehicles, clearly military in nature from the designs, were parked nearby, and more than a few camels could be seen sitting on their haunches, emitting the occasional bovine like bray. The front door was wide open and large man stood guard at the entrance. “What kind of place is this?” Murphy asked as he came over the dune.

Divale paused and sniffed the air loudly. After taking a few good whiffs he started to enumerate what smelled. “Well, we have burning wicks from candles, spent match heads, hot food, alcohol, body odor, cigarette smoke, maybe a water pipe or two, and of course my most least favorite smell in the world: old cum stains. No doubt about it Audie, this here is a whorehouse.” he declared.

“I don’t even want to know how you know that last scent.” Neumann muttered, grimacing all the while.

“Before I joined the Allies, I was in an all male unit and I helped do laundry on many occasions. I know that smell better than anyone here.” Divale explained. _Least I hope I am._ “Alright folks, hold onto your asses, because we’re going in.” With a confident stride, the warlock walked on over, Audie much less cocksure and Edytha doing her best to kept in character, though her unfamiliar outfit made it hard to navigate effectively. It didn’t take long for the guard, a bald man with a bad sunburn on his forehead in full Italian combat fatigues, to notice the approaching trio and automatically tensed up, moving directly in front of the threshold, blocking the way.

When they were in ear shot, the man cleared his throat and inquired menacingly, “You speak English?”

“No point in venturing out here if you can’t speak the language.” Aaron replied.

“Then you should know that this site is military only. No civilians allowed. If you have no business here than I suggest you leave.” the man stated.

“I do have some sort of business to discuss.” Divale assured, taking a step to the side so that the guard could look at Neumann. “That is if the price is right.”

The witch froze stiff upon hearing those words come out of Aaron’s mouth. _What the fuck is doing?!_ The presumably Italian bouncer took a good look at her and demanded, “Have her come over here. Let me see her face.”

The warlock turned around and aggressively pointed to a spot a few inches away from the guard for Edytha to stand. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard to quench that dry mouth of hers, the air commander strolled on over, her mind awash with fears. _What’s going to happen? What’s he going to do?_ Once she got to where Aaron told her to be, he walked behind her and gently pulled the veil down from her face. “Quite the beautiful creature wouldn’t you say?” Aaron asked.

Placing his right hand on his chin, the bouncer ogled the witch, every so often humming and hurming. “We do have a demand for girls with glasses.” he mused. “This would fetch a fair price in these parts. Though I do have a question. Do the windows match the drapes?”

Divale chuckled at such a query as he placed the veil back over Neumann’s face. “I don’t concern myself with the appetizer. I look more towards the main course if you catch my drift.” he politely countered.

The guard licked his lips and gave the disguised witch another uncomfortable look before stating, “I think you might have yourself a deal. Come inside. We’ll discuss the particulars.”

Aaron started to walk into the building, but then stopped just short of the doorway. “Don’t think of this as an insult or anything my friend, but my father always told me to never conduct a business transaction with full balls and an empty stomach. Is it perhaps alright if I sample some of your wares?” he suggested.

“As long as your coin’s good and you uphold your end of the bargain, you can have as much as you please.” the man informed. He then stepped off to the right to allow the warlock and company to pass. However, just as Divale started to move the bouncer added, “Word to the wise: The girls can touch you, but unless they say so, you don’t touch the girls. Understand?” After nodding in approval, Divale motioned for everyone to follow him. Once past the threshold, he got a good look at the interior of the house of ill repute. The first thing he noticed was a thick pall of cigarette smoke hanging like a low fog everywhere, ever so slightly obscuring the features of the patrons who were busy drinking, eating, talking, and carousing with a few select ladies dressed in rather low cut tops and barely there skirts. Tables lined the far left wall and extended around the room. On the right wall there were circular booths with leather seating with high wood backs. _Perfect for being discrete._ Far in the distance, Aaron could make out a passageway leading towards the back of the establishment, presumably to the bathrooms and other small nooks and crannies that a pair could find themselves alone for a while. In the center of the room was a wraparound bar with an oval oak stained top with two bartenders taking orders from either side, tall bottles of alcohol glinting in the low light. When Audie got inside, his eyes bugged out at such a ghastly display of vice while Edytha said nothing at all, though deep down Divale knew that she was steaming. He subvocalized imago calor and began scanning the room slowly as he made his way towards the booth at the far end of the line. _Now this is interesting. All the guys seem to be the enemy, yet the girls aren’t. This could complicate things._ Once he arrived at his intended destination, he politely allowed Neumann to take the center seat while Murphy took the left, leaving Aaron sitting with his back towards the door. A shrill whistle drew his attention towards the bar where one of the bartenders looked at him. Not wanting to be rude, the warlock put up two fingers and the man nodded.

“I’ve never been so violated in my entire life Lieutenant Divale.” Edytha seethed in a low voice, unable to keep her displeasure under wraps any longer. “Just what the hell are you thinking? Offering to sell me? Are you crazy? I should slap you the moment we’re out of here.”

“She’s got a point there Aaron.” Murphy agreed, doing his best to not observe what was going on all around them. “Because of that, I think you fucked any chance of us getting out of here the easy way.”

“Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch folks.” the warlock retorted after placing his drink order. “I know what I’m doing. Besides, when you’re in the devil’s den, act like it and no one acts a better devil than me.” Neumann grumbled and looked away while Audie was practically squirming in his seat as if he had hemorrhoids. His face was a shade of whitish green and Aaron knew exactly why. “First time Murphy?” he asked with a wink.

“This place is wrong on many levels.” the staff sergeant muttered. “I just was to get out as fast as possible and take a shower or two to get the stink off.”

“If you think this place is bad, wrap your mind around this: I’ve been in worse places. A lot worse.” Divale replied. He was about to say something else, but he noticed in his peripheral that his drinks were ready and silently excused himself to go to the bar to pick them up. The American sighed and placed his hands over his face, rubbing his skin. _God send me an angel to get me out of this hell hole because the one we’ve got isn’t doing much._

“Hey there short, dark, and lonesome.” a woman’s voice called out across from him. Taking his hands away from his eyes, he gasped as two women were sitting in the spot that Aaron just vacated, elbows on the table, and smiling right at him. The first one was short and tanned with dark hair in pigtails and a black ribbon tied around her neck while the other was a tall fair red head with light freckles and blue eyes. Both were dressed in the same uniforms as the other girls which in of itself wasn’t a problem for Murphy except that the ginger had a rather large chest and the tight top left nothing to the imagination. _Lord preserve me._ “Where did you get a ring like that?” the short one asked.

“I-It fell f-from the s-sky.” the staff sergeant stammered, trying his best to keep his composure.

The red head chuckled, but was rudely cut short when all four of them heard a very gruff throat clear. The two women turned and saw Aaron looking down on them with two drinks in his hand, his gaze deadly serious for but a moment before softening like butter in a hot pan. They scooted over, giving him a space to sit and he did so, gently setting the drinks down and regarding them with a warm smile. Divale opened his arms wide and the two women fell into them, giving him a strong hug. He reciprocated the gesture and whispered softly, “Thank fucking God you two are alright. When I figured you two would be the ones they sent, I feared the worst. Did any of them-”

“They never came close.” the ginger answered after releasing her grip. She cracked her knuckles and added, “They learned that awfully quick.”

“È così bello vederti (It’s so good to see you).” the short onestated, looking like she was about to cry.

“Anche tu (You too).” the warlock replied. He then gestured to his companions. “These are my friends. The one in the hijab is Air Commander Edytha Neumann and the gentleman across from me is Staff Sergeant Audie Murphy. You might remember him from Dover.”

“Oh I do.” the red head commented regarding Audie. “Thanks again by the way for helping us out.”

“Just doing my duty ma’am.” Murphy squeaked.

“I’m Ensign Francesca Lucchini and this is my wingman Captain Charlotte Yeager. Call her Shirley for short.” Francesca stated proudly.

“Now that we have the introductions out of the way,” Neumann quietly announced, “we can then get started with getting out of this situation.”

“Not yet.” Shirley countered with a serious tone to her voice. “We still need an important piece of information.”

“You know where it is?” Murphy inquired.

Lucchini nodded. “It’s in a secret compartment over there at the bar. We’ve tried to sneak around to snatch it, but we haven’t be able to pull it off. Hopefully you three are packing some serious heat because these clothes don’t exactly hide much.”

“Oh we are indeed.” Aaron assured, downing both of his drinks. _That whiskey isn’t half bad. A little warm for my taste, but decent._ “And I’ve got the perfect foolproof plan on how to get out of here.”

“One which hopefully doesn’t involve selling me off?” Edytha inquired in a not so friendly way.

“Well…. about that…” Divale began, drawing a gasp of indignation from his superior. He stifled a chuckle and hastily added, “I’m joking. I’m joking. Now, everyone huddle up.” Once everyone got close enough he explained the plan. “This is what’s going to go down folks. Murphy and Edytha will stay put and take out the back half. Shirley, I want you to take down that bartender and support as best you can. Me and Lucchini will get to the empty booth in the middle so as to give her a better shot of eliminating the other bartender. I’ll mop up what’s left. No one starts shooting until you hear me stamp my right foot down. Questions?”

“What about the back back?” Audie asked.

Aaron took a quick once over with his heat vision spell and shook his head. “No tangos there, just the girls. In fact, none of the ladies here are the enemy. Check your fire as best you can, but if you have to take the shot, do what you must.” he advised.

“How exactly are you going to get me there if you have to discuss things with that ugly fuck of a guard? He’s probably still at the door.” Francesca queried.

“By doing this.” Divale indicated. He then cupped his hands around the witch’s left ear and started to whisper something. Lucchini listened for barely a moment or two before she her face turned several shades of red. With the secret successfully passed, the warlock asked, “So you ready?”

“Nessun affare divertente Aaron (No funny business Aaron).” Francesca emphatically stated.

“Ma certo (But of course).” Aaron replied and then quickly got up, looped one arm around Lucchini’s back, the other under her knees, and simply picked her up like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. “That’s a most fantastic idea my dear. Let’s make good on that shall we?” he loudly proclaimed, walking slowly towards the door.

Lucchini did her best to giggle given the circumstances and remarked, “Wow sir. You surely are strong.”

“If you think I have power above the belt, wait until you get a load of what I got in store for you below.” the warlock replied, keeping his eyes trained on the door.

His measured steps drew everyone’s attention, including the sun burnt Italian guard who simply got out of his seat, placed himself in front of the door, and crossed his arms over his immense chest. “And where do you think you’re going?” he inquired with a cocked eyebrow.

Aaron took a quick glance down at the witch in his arms, subtly checking if he was in position. Contented upon finding out that he was, he replied, “I’m going to do my best to explain to this darling woman that sex and mathematics are one and the same. You simply add a bed, subtract some clothes, divide legs, and hopefully not multiply.”

His comment drew a lot of low whistles and ooohs from the clientele, but the bouncer remained cool and collected. “The first part of your equation can be found back where you came from in the passageway.” he informed, gesturing to the back of the building.

“Oh I know that,” Divale stated, “but this one told me that the beds are uncomfortable and far too small for a man of my stature which is why I suggested on taking her to my tent. You should see it where your from right now, just a bit past the motorcade.”

A puzzled look washed over the guard’s face and his craned his neck to look out one of the windows. To his astonishment, there in fact was a large tent all set up exactly where the mysterious guest indicated. “Strange that I did see that the first time. Have to say, that’s a very impressive tent.” he commented.

The disguised warlock chuckled. “I can pitch much bigger.” he remarked, making some in the room clap in approval. “Thank you good people. I’m here all night.” he added with a grin.

“And so will she.” the guard declared, killing the applause. “Though it is close by, the cardinal rule stands: Unless it’s medical, the girls don’t leave the premises.”

Upon hearing that, Aaron set Lucchini down in the empty booth and slowly reached for a small leather draw string bag tied around his waist. As he did so, he queried, “What if I were to pay extra for the privilege?”

“You could offer a king’s ransom right now and it wouldn’t change my mind.” the bouncer flatly answered, getting a tad bit annoyed at this persistence.

Divale shifted a touch to the right, inching closer to the bar top, and set the bag down on the wood, whatever it contained making a very hard plunk. He opened it and pulled down the sides letting everyone in the place see what it contained. Eyes bugged out and shocked hands went towards mouths as two shiny gold bars appeared. “What do think now Midas?” he asked.

For several seconds, the sight of such riches seemed to find a chink in the man’s armor, but suddenly, his mind shifted into suspicion and he drew a pistol from behind his back and pointed it squarely at Aaron’s chest. Patrons started to back themselves up against the wall in case a firefight broke out and the raucous noise that once filled the whorehouse died. “What do you do stranger?” he inquired, flicking the safety off.

“I’m merely a humble farmer.” Aaron responded, lifting his right heel slightly off the ground.

“What kind of farmer?” the guard demanded.

“What kind of farmer am I you ask?” Divale reiterated. Like a thunderclap, his heel stomped on the ground hard and, with a wild flourish, his disguise flew off like laundry caught up in a strong wind, revealing his wings and his machine gun. “I’m a lead farmer motherfucker.” he answered before pulling the trigger. Three rounds burrowed into the bouncer and he spewed blood from his mouth as he crumpled into a lifeless heap. Not done, Aaron started turning his weapon on the remainder of the men inside, peppering them with large caliber rounds. Lucchini had already sprung into action, taking two running steps towards the bar and jumping into the air just as the bartender started to get a shotgun hidden underneath the liquor well. She kicked him in the face hard and he flew up against a glass rack, shattering more than a few. Quickly getting her hands on the shotgun, Francesca pumped once and fired, the buckshot at close range disemboweling the man. For their parts, Audie and Edytha started spraying the rear of the building with Thompson and MP40 bullets respectively. Shirley took the one of the empty glasses that Divale had left on the table, rapped it against the high back of the booth so that it became a makeshift knife, and hurled it at the last bartender. It got him square in the eye and he howled in pain. Yeager got on the table and jumped, using it as a raised platform that allowed her to land right into the bar area. With a well executed kick, she knocked the shard of glass deeper into the bartenders skull. The frontal lobes were sliced into and the enemy fell backwards, twitching as he laid on the ground. All this occurred with three seconds of Aaron’s boot heel hitting the floor.

Ten loud banging seconds passed as body after body was viciously gunned down, punctuated by the screams of the women who huddled under the tables and prayed that they weren’t next on the list. Soon, it was all over. The warlock surveyed the damage through the gun smoke and the tinkling of spent casings and nodded. “All clear?” he called out. As he got affirmatives, he turned his attention to the ladies and announced, “Alright folks, listen up. This is a robbery. Keep your heads down and your hands where I can see them. Do not try to run. If you do, I will shoot you. Stay calm and things will go smoothly.” That was when he felt a tap on his right shoulder. Aaron turned to see who it was, but couldn’t see anything as the right hand of Edytha smacked him hard, nearly spinning him around, the sound of palm striking cheek reverberating throughout the room.

“Ooof.” Shirley uttered with a cringe, blood stains on her top as Murphy graciously lent her a hand in getting up and over the bar. “I felt that from here.”

Recovering from the surprise attack, Divale worked touched his left cheek, making sure that it was still attached. “I thought you said you’d do that when we got out.” he stated, smarting from the pain.

Neumann glared at him with a smug look to her face and merely said, “Sorry. My hand must have slipped.”

“I found it!” Lucchini cried out, drawing everyone’s attention. The witch had a look of triumph to her face as she held a small pamphlet in her hands.

“What is it?” the American asked as he and the captain got closer to the trio.

Francesca opened it and took a look at two pages. She groaned almost instantly. “It’s in Arabic.” she complained. “Why can’t it be in language I can understand?”

“Let me see.” the air commander offered. The Italian witch let her take the pages and she immediately began translating them. “The first one looks like a bulletin of sorts. It says, ‘Phase Two authorized. Shipment from Delos expected within ten days. Continue accruing personnel. Stand by for further instructions.’ As for the the second page, it’s a shipping invoice. Pier 94A Derna. PT boat 030 and it’s going to leave in an hour.”

“You hear that Shirley?!” Lucchini blurted. “She was right all the long!”

“Who was?” Aaron inquired.

“Our CO. She and her assistant are on Delos right now and we have to get going.” Yeager answered.

“Now hold on.” Neumann ordered. “I think you owe us some answers as to just what the hell is going here.”

“We will get to that once we’re in that boat and out to sea. We promise.” Francesca countered.

The air commander’s eye twitch a tad as frustration began to build. _I hate being in the dark about these things._ “I’m holding you both to that.” she decided, returning the pages back to Lucchini. “Where’s your gear?”

“It’s buried outside.” Shirley replied. “I know where it is.”

“Staff sergeant, go with her and help out.” Edytha ordered. “And I want y-” Her train of thought was interrupted as Aaron vaulted over the bar top and took two unopened bottles of whiskey from the top shelf. “Just what do you think you’re doing Lieutenant Divale?” she queried, hands on her hips.

The warlock held the bottles in either hand and responded, “This is for a job well done and this is for when we finish the job.”

****************

He flicked the lighter again and again, but the slovenly PT boat captain could not get a single decent flame to appear. His brow furrowed in frustration as the butt of the cigarette in his mouth started to absorb his saliva and he could taste the poor quality. The cushioned seat in the cabin shifted as he moved around, still fussing with the lighter. In front of him, the controls were dormant and slightly rusty from the salty air. “Come on you bitch. Light damn you.” he cursed thumbing it to life once again. Finally, after what seemed like five minutes of work, a long orange flame danced upwards. “Fucking finally.” he beamed and proceeded to touch the tip of his cigarette to the fire. Unfortunately for him, the captain never got to enjoy his nicotine fix as Edytha pulled the trigger to her Welrod, dousing the lighter and pilot controls with the man’s blood and brain matter.

After confirming the kill, Neumann radioed Aaron in a low voice. “Driver’s cabin secure. How are we looking lieutenant?”

“Boat’s cloaked, all tangos down, and we’re on board and free.” Divale reported.

“You have anything in your arsenal to make us quiet?” the air commander asked, kicking the dead body out of the seat.

“I can muffle anything this bucket of bolts can dish out. Punch it.” the warlock replied.

“Roger that. Starting the engines soon. Secure yourselves. Don’t throw the body’s over the side until we get a few miles from shore.” Edytha concluded, taking a handkerchief from her right pocket and wiping the controls off as best she could. Once she got it to where it wasn’t going to cause her hands to slip, Neumann threw the rag off to the side and sat down in the seat. It was uncomfortably warm, but the witch paid it no mind as she turned the ignition. With a roar that sounded much louder to her than anyone else, the engine came online. Not wasting any time, Edytha pushed the throttle upwards and the boat began to speed out of the harbor. From the front and side windows she could see the traffic crisscrossing the mostly calm waters, the ocean spray filling the air with the smell of the sea. “I’m going to have to weave through some obstacles.” she announced over her comms. “Hold tight.” Holding the steering wheel firmly in her left hand and minding the throttle with her right, the witch flew on by various fishing boats, trawlers, and even two tankers, drifting wildly to either side in order to avoid collisions. _Just like my driving course back in Germany._ The wild ride lasted a few more seconds before she saw that they were in the clear. “Everyone, meet me in the driver’s cabin pronto.” she ordered. Deciding that they were out of visual rang, Neumann brought the throttle down and the PT boat slowly came to halt, bobbing up and down in the water like a cork.

Footsteps behind her made her turn around and she saw all four of her companions funnel into the small confines. Francesca waltzed right in first with Shirley right behind her, the skimpy clothes they wore at the whorehouse long since shed and replaced with their proper uniforms. “You really know how to make a quick getaway Edytha.” Lucchini commented as she leaned up against the left wall.

“I almost wished you didn’t slow down. That was a rush and a half.” Yeager quipped, joining her friend.

Next came Audie who gave the air commander a salute and last, and certainly a grumbling least, came Aaron who was audibly not pleased with the claustrophobia inducing space. “I swear to fucking God,” he began, moving through the narrow door sideways and hunching over so his head didn’t crash into the ceiling, “once this war is over, I’m going to advocate for increased space for us big people.”

“Why don’t you use your magic?” Murphy asked. “You certainly did back in those tunnels at El Alamein.”

“I’m not getting shot at, that’s why.” Divale retorted before hacking up a globule of ruby red phlegm and sending it back out the door.

“Captain Yeager. Get your CO on the line. I would like to speak with her immediately.” Neumann demanded.

“We should be far away enough from shore.” Shirley mused as she took her communicator out of her ear and plugged it into a small depression in the control panel right next to a corded receiver. She flicked a toggle and a green light came on along. The buzzing of static drowned out the lapping waves outside. Thumbing the stud, the witch called out, “This is Captain Yeager calling Delos HQ. Come in Delos HQ. Over.”

Almost immediately, an old woman’s voice could be heard. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice captain. Is Ensign Lucchini with you and are you both safe?”

“Roger that ma’am and the agents you requested helped out greatly in our escape.” Yeager elaborated.

“Most excellent. Was the warlock I requested among them?” the woman inquired.

“Yes he most certainly is ma’am. He’s accompanied by an American staff sergeant and their superior officer.” Shirley relayed.

“Really? I seem to remember only asking for two, but no matter. Many hands make light work I suppose. Put their CO on the line. I’m sure they would like some question answered.” the voice instructed.

Yeager politely handed off the receiver to Neumann who cleared her throat and began her address. “This is Air Commander Edytha Neumann. Who am I talking with?”

“You’re talking to Lieutenant Anna Ferrara of the Italian Air Force, assigned to the II Paratroopers Battalion of the 185th Infantry Division.” Anna answered.

“What’s your home unit?” Edytha inquired.

“It doesn’t exist anymore. The military disbanded us after The Great War. Terrible shame, but enough about me. Let’s get to the real important details. Air Commander Neumann, what I have to tell you and your handpicked volunteers could very well turn the tide of the North African front drastically in your favor and bring this conflict to a quick and decisive close.” Ferrara explained. “The enemy has been using a nest at Delos as a mean of replenishing their stocks of Neuroi cores for quite some time now.”

The German witch’s eye’s bugged out. _What did she just say?! The enemy has been resupplying themselves with those things?!_ “How did you come across this information? Is this conclusion of yours definite?” she queried hastily.

“Did the information inside that den of debauchery say anything important? Anything at all?” Anna asked.

“Something about a phase 2 being authorized.” Neumann replied.

A brief silence followed before Ferrara’s voice came back. “So it was just as I suspected all along. God I wish we could’ve done something sooner.” she lamented.

“I’m still in the dark as to how you managed to deduce this.” Edytha pressed.

“I found out about this situation the same way most people find things out nowadays; by accident. Before we began our seldom mentioned campaign in the Aegean, our country dispatched dozens of reconnaissance flights to gather vital intelligence on the enemy’s strength and whereabouts. This was back in August of ‘43 mind you. One of these flight ran into a storm and was blown off course over the island of Delos. However, the cameras picked up several strange phenomena, namely dozens of PT boats, probably the same kind that you are in right now, streaming in and out of the island, loading huge crates. Bear in mind, this island was heavily guarded by the Neuroi. The fact that these boats weren’t getting blown out of the water made absolutely no sense at all. When the pilot’s report was presented before the Italian War Ministry, it was dismissed as some sort of aberration, a trick that stress and strain played on the pilot’s judgment and eyes. It didn’t sit well with me because I felt that she was telling the truth. Fast forward a few months into the future and the entire North African front gets obliterated in days. Coincidence? I think not. Some time later as we were cleaning up the rest of Crete, one of these PT boats was found floundering in the open water. They fired upon us as we tried to make contact. After dealing with them, we found one of those crates in the hold chock full of Neuroi cores. Hundreds of not thousands of them, all the size of a man’s fist. We couldn’t find out anything as to where these had come from, but we managed to locate a series of coordinates deep behind enemy lines.” Anna illuminated.

“And I’ll bet that one of those coordinates happened to be that whorehouse.” Neumann remarked.

“Correct. And that is why the girls were sent and the rest I think you can figure out from there.” Ferrara concluded.

“Excellent sleuthing there Lieutenant Ferrara.” Edytha congratulated. “This discovery will surely bring an end to this conflict as you said once we destroy it.” A terrible thought raced through her mind and she then added, “Is Delos the only site or are there more?”

“So far we’ve uncovered no evidence that they are getting these cores from anywhere else air commander.” Anna replied. “Right now, focus on getting safely back here. There should be a map inside that tub of yours that will point you in the right direction. By the time you get here, I should have a plan in place to clip this troublesome weed right in the roots. Ferrara out.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an opportunity to deal the enemy a serious blow, the quartet make their way to the island of Delos where Anna Ferrara and her assistant awaits them. A plan is proposed at dinner and Aaron will have to walk into Hell to get it done. But one question remains: Will he walk out?

**_ **Chapter XV: Shepard Of Fire** _ **

_It was perhaps the most insane, suicidal, bottom of the barrel head scratching plan that I ever heard in my life, which is saying a lot since I’ve been the author of many of them. And it’s probably why this might just be crazy enough to work._

Diary Entry June 1st 1944

A bright light and the night remains, but the sea is far far away below one’s feet. The sensation of hair whipping in the night breeze registers as well as the harsh smell of something burning. Vision pans far to the right and eyes water from the acrid fumes that batter the face. Through the welling tears, a massive fire rages, an inferno that rushes through what once was an ancient city. Memory finds the name: Athens. Buildings crumble and fall to the ground or careen into the sea, the heat of the dying structures making the water hiss like a gorgon of legend. Centuries of what was now turn to dust and ash, blown amongst the fetid winds. The image of death retreats from view as another comes into focus, a forest, where hidden inside, lies something which makes a heart beat that much faster and the sweat of fear flow that much colder.

The lighter cap snapped shut hard, killing the flame that Aaron had used to light his cigarette. In the small living quarters, it sounded more like a gun shot than anything else, but Divale was unfazed by it. He took a long drag, the cherry on the tip glowing as much as his eyes and exhaled softly, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth, up and over his skull and through the broken porthole above his head. The warlock readjusted himself in the small chair he sat in and leaned back, thinking about the past, getting lost in the memories. _It’s certainly be a long while since I’ve been this far east. Not since ‘41. Fuck has it really been that long ago. Could’ve sworn it was yesterday. Where did all that time go?_ Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he flicked the excess off the tip into a small tin ash tray, one that was heavily stuffed with spent ash, three butts, and a mixture of dry and fresh blood that he’d been spitting out. All three scents commingled to create a curious odor. _Almost like gunpowder after a fashion. Too much of that rusty smell._ A lazy yawn reached his ears and he looked out towards the wide open door that led out into the main concourse. After a few seconds, in popped Lucchini with Shirley in tow. “Looks like someone took a cat nap.” Aaron remarked. “And did so without having to wake a grizzly bear.”

The two witches chuckled at the joke and Francesca noticed the lit cigarette in Divale’s right hand. A frown appeared and she inquired with disgust, “You took up smoking? That’s a very disgusting habit to have you know.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it for fun.” Aaron replied. “It just help me with the stress I’ve been feeling.”

Yeager grew concerned and walked over to him, leaning against a nearby pole. “You alright? Is something wrong?” she asked.

Divale took another quick puff and sighed. “A lot has been on my mind lately.” he admitted.

Lucchini joined her friend and looked out the porthole. “I see.” she observed. “You’re thinking about the last time you were here. Varna, Athens, Larissa.”

“Someone get this woman a prize.” Divale quipped with smile. The grin disappeared and he added, “It was a long time ago, but it still feels like it just happened. Strange.”

“The past is the past Aaron.” Shirley stated, trying to be helpful. “It can’t hurt you.”

The warlock gave the American a sideways glance and queried in a serious tone, “Then what happened at Dover then?”

Mentioning that one word created an awkward silence. Yeager looked down for a moment and shook her head. “I’m sorry.” she apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You were just trying to help make me feel better Shirley.” Aaron assured. “It’s not your fault. I’ve dealt with it.”

“Things have been really tough out there for you huh?” Francesca asked.

“You both have no clue.” the warlock informed. “It was bad when I got here and it’s still bad even now. That and I never though in million years that I’d be fighting against human beings and the Neuroi on the same battlefield. Makes it really hard to sleep at night sometimes when you think about it, what you had to do to those soldiers and witches, how you did it. There’s really not much choice out there. When you’re a soldier, violence is part of the life. You can’t escape it. ”

“Whatever you had to do,” Shirley countered, “you did it for the right reasons. I know it sounds cruel, but every single one you kill brings this mess that much closer to ending.”

“You have a fair point.” Divale agreed, taking another puff. His brow furrowed and he then asked, “Speaking of reasons, what made you two decide to join this expedition?”

“The 363 rd  got shipped over to England shortly before you left and I was given plenty to do, namely flying escort on various bombing missions around the French Belgian border. We coordinated with Minna’s old unit, the Jagdgeschwader 53 with Erica and Gertrude and successfully managed to wrest Ypres from the enemy. They’re using it as a FOB now.” Shirley began.

“Ypres?” Aaron asked with a touch of disbelief in his voice. “That’s a good fifteen miles inside the enemy’s backyard. You actually got that far into Belgium and held the damn thing?”

“Yes,” Yeager admitted sadly, “and to be honest I wish we didn’t. It cost way too many lives to take. Whole thing left a really bad taste in my mouth so I used my accrued leave and left for Italy to find Lucchini.”

“I was stationed in Rimini pushing papers while the rest of the unit spent their sweet time in Venice.” Francesca seethed. “Even though I came back to the 90 th  a God damned hero, they still didn’t want me around. It was a slap in the face. When Shirley managed to track me down however, things got really fun. We must have hit every bar from Ancona to Ravenna that first night. Then, when we finally dried out from all the vino and pizza, the 90  th  told me about an assignment that I might be interested in and that was when we met Anna Ferrara. It seemed like a good idea and anything was better sitting behind a desk all day stamping requisition orders and filing combat reports.”

“What was it like?” Divale inquired, finishing his cigarette.

“Hairy.” Lucchini replied. “It was nothing short of a cat and mouse game the moment we touched down on Cyprus. We really had to pick our battles wisely. Thankfully, the lieutenant is a fine strategist and a very good fighter considering her age.”

“That’s a relief.” the warlock stated, grinding the butt into the ashtray. He looked at then and simply smiled, slightly shaking his head from side to side. “God I’ve missed you guys.” he uttered.

“We missed you too Aaron.” Shirley agreed. “When you left it, things didn’t feel right.” A thought crept into her mind and she suggested, “Why don’t you come back if the 501 st  gets reformed?”

“Yeah! That’s something to look forward too! Everyone would love seeing you back! You have too!” Francesca enthusiastically declared.

“It technically wouldn’t be my choice to make, but if you say your prayers just right and the powers that be hear them, I’ll be there in heartbeat.” Aaron responded. “I promise.” Something caused him to chuckle and he looked at the Italian witch. “Mind if I asked you a question?”

“Sure.” Lucchini responded.

“Now be honest with me.” Divale said while leaning forwards. “How much did you blush when I was talking dirty back at the whorehouse?”

Francesca crossed her arms over he chest and pointed her nose up in the air. “I did no such thing.” she asserted. “That language was tasteless and vulgar. You should be ashamed of yourself for saying such things.”

“You’re so full of shit I’m surprised your eyes don’t go brown.” Yeager countered. “I saw everything. You had Lucchini blushing so bad I’m amazed she didn’t melt in your arms.”

“You s-s-shut up!” Lucchini yelled, pointing her left hand at her friend. “You were too!”

“That and poor Murphy was turning multiple shades of green and your boss looked like she was going to puke.” Shirley continued.

“I personally believe it was the other way around.” a voice quipped from the doorway. The trio turned to see who it was and saw the American soldier, holding two metal cups of freshly brewed steaming hot coffee in his hands.

“Oh for me, you shouldn’t have.” Aaron jested with a smile.

“This here is for me and the air commander. There’s still some left in the pot back in the kitchen if you want any.” Audie stated, holding the mugs close to his chest.

“Hell yes!” Shirley exclaimed, running out of the room and nearly knocking the American over in the process.

“It is espresso?” Lucchini asked.

“Ersatz.” Murphy answered.

“Blech.” Francesca muttered. “Se non è caffè espresso, è piscio (If it’s not espresso, it’s piss.”

“More for me then.” the warlock remarked as he carefully got up from his seat. Audie politely got out of the way and resumed his journey down the small narrow corridor leading to the driver’s cabin. The door was wide open and he merely stepped through, gingerly minding the dried blood stains on the metal deck floor. Edytha was out of the chair, standing straight up and occasionally letting her legs swing side to side.

“Excellent timing staff sergeant.” Neumann commented as she took one hand off the throttle and rubbed her right thigh.

“You alright?” the soldier queried. “You want me to take over for a bit?”

The witch sat back down and took a quick glance over her left shoulder at him. “I’m fine, but thank you for the offer and the coffee.” she replied. Murphy passed off one of the cups, leaned against the wall, and took a good sip from the one still left to him. It was sour and there were some grounds in it, but it was better than nothing. Edytha did the same and spit out a few of the grounds. She then looked at her watch and noticed that it was close to midnight. “Another few minutes it will officially be June.” she announced. “And my three year anniversary of being in North Africa.”

Audie cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been here for three years?” he asked. When Edytha nodded, he added, “That’s a long time out in these parts.”

“I don’t regret a single thing about it. Far as I’m concerned, I think I’ve done pretty well out here considering the circumstances.” Neumann reminisced after taking a good drink from her cup. Laughter drowned out the noise of the engine and Murphy craned his neck to look out the door just in time to see Aaron and the other witches guffawing about something that he was talking about. “I know you’re curious, but give them their privacy staff sergeant. They have a lot to catch up on it appears.” she advised.

“It not that I’m eavesdropping or anything, it’s just nice to see him smile for once.” Audie explained.

Edytha grew curious and mildly concerned herself when she heard that and took a quick glance over at the American. “Is everything alright with him?” she inquired.

Murphy realized right then and there that he said too much. _I really shouldn’t have said that. Can’t back out of it now Audie. Time to man up._ His eyes darted back out to the hallway to make sure that they weren’t planning on coming over and whispered, “Now you didn’t hear this from me air commander, but Aaron hasn’t been in a good place for a long while and it’s getting to the point where I think he really needs help getting out of that rut he’s in.”

“Have you spoken to Marseilles about it?” Neumann asked.

“Honestly, some of us feel that it wouldn’t do any good.” Murphy replied sadly. “The two don’t have what you might call an amicable relationship. She’s been really raking him over the coals for the stupidest things and if we told her, she’ll simply ignore it or turn the screws tighter just to spite him.”

 _Yes that definitely sounds like something she would do, especially to people that she doesn’t like._ “I’ll do you a favor. In exchange for dropping some subtle hints about what she’s doing, keep me in the loop. Lieutenant Divale is a good soldier and we’re going to need him to end this war. It’d be a shame if he can’t give his all when it matters due to some mental issue.” Edytha suggested.

“Sounds like a bargain to me.” the staff sergeant agreed. “Thanks air commander.”

“You’re welc-” the witch began to say, but something moved out of the corner of her eye. Shifting her position in the seat, Neumann looked out the forward windows and saw five Neuroi flying overhead, their black silhouettes almost invisible, the red beamer pods ominously pointed at them. She was just about to evade, but she remembered that Aaron’s magic was still active, keeping them safe. Two more five man flights passed through the night sky looping in and around a rapidly growing island in the distance. _That must be Delos. Ferrara wasn’t kidding when she said that this place was crawling with them. How the hell did she manage to get here in the first place?_ Edytha keyed in Divale’s frequency and radioed in a low voice, “Lieutenant Divale. We’re nearing Delos. Have Ensign Lucchini come to the driver’s cabin. I’m going to need directions from her. Stay quiet. We have enemy fighters right above us.”

“Understood Edytha. Divale out.” the warlock replied.

After cutting the link, Murphy seemed to understand what was going on and got on his haunches, keeping low to the deck. He peered out the windows and saw the Neuroi high above, executing a standard patrol pattern. “This feels like Gotland all over again.” he mumbled, finishing the rest of his coffee. Soon, Aaron, Francesca, and Shirley funneled into the room, Lucchini standing right next to Neumann and squinting her eyes.

“Go slow. Hard to port forty degrees and maintain course.” the Italian witch instructed. “The island is ringed with reefs and deadly rock outcroppings just beneath the surface. You hit them, we’re going to sink faster than the American stock exchange on Black Tuesday.”

“Geez Francesca.” Yeager quipped. “Way to put her at ease.”

“Piece of cake.” Edytha shot back, altering her course as suggested.

“You can keep it. I’m more of a Hersey’s Kiss fan myself.” Aaron joked. No one laughed and the warlock shrugged his shoulders and suddenly felt the urge to vomit. _Held it in too long._ He cracked open a nearby porthole window and started taking deep breaths to try to lessen the nausea. It didn’t work and his body simply couldn’t contain itself anymore, violently expelling the built up blood in his stomach out into the sea.

“Can you warn me next time you do that?” Audie complained, looking pale.

“Go fu-” Divale retorted, but another throe decided to come along and he vomited again. Once the nausea lessened, he collapsed backwards onto the deck, blood puke flowing out of the corners of his mouth. Shirley produced a handkerchief from one of her pockets and handed it to him. He took it graciously and cleaned himself up. All while this was going on, the captain and navigator worked in tandem to bring the ship into some sort of port, weaving in and around near invisible obstacles in the dead of night. Several minutes passed, punctuated by the commands from Lucchini, until they came up almost to the far left side of the island itself, a sheer cliff face the only thing that could be discerned.

“Okay.” Francesca announced. “Kill the engine and let the waves take you in closer.” She turned around and regarded Aaron who by now was standing more or less near the door and ordered, “Get topside and situate yourself on the bow. The hidden entrance was used for fishing boats and is right in front of you, but we have no means of opening it remotely. You need to make sure we don’t collide with the cliff until you get it opened.”

“On my way.” Divale stated, departing as fast as he could in the close confines.

“Should I turn the lights to help him see?” Neumann asked.

“No need.” the ensign declined. “He can see perfectly in the dark.”

The PT boat rocked downwards as the warlock’s bulk bore on it from above. Every step he took seemed to make the bow depress to the point where Edytha was convinced that he was going to capsize them frontally. Outside, Aaron looked out in front of him at the cliff face, his vision picking up every crevasse and line of seaweed on the rocks. _Now she said fishing boat and back then they had very shallow ones. It might be comparable to the PT boat or it might not. Will have to play it safe._ Deducing that, the warlock got on his stomach and waited patiently for the bow to get within range. Probably a minute passed until the palms of his hands pressed against the stone cliff. Gritting his teeth, he anchored his feet in place as best he could and pushed back against the water. The bow donked ever so gently on the rock, but suffered no structural damage. “Now where are you you little fucker.” he growled through his teeth as he patted the side of the cliff with one hand while keeping the bow steady with the other. After a few passes, Aaron found a hole that looked far too round to be naturally occurred and shoved his right hand into it. He felt some sort of handle, grabbed onto it, and pulled towards him. Whatever it was moved to a point and then stopped when it issued an audible click. Letting go, Divale started to get up off his stomach and stood on the bow watching in awe as the solid rock face in front of him started to slowly open inwards. “I seem to have found it.” he commented as he planted his feet securely.

“Nice.” Francesca replied. Turning to Edytha, she ordered, “Go easy on the throttle. You need to get inside before it closes again in about thirty seconds.”

“I’ll see if I can get off to the side and dock this bitch when we’re in.” the warlock stated. The PT boat’s engine hummed softly as Neumann gently gave it a little more gas, propelling the vessel carefully into and through the doors. Inside the maw, it was pitch black and when the boat was less than halfway in Aaron jumped jumped to the right, rocking the front of the boat violently.

“Hold her steady.” Lucchini advised. She then used her communicator to talk to Divale. “Make sure she’s going the right way in.” she relayed.

“Understood.” Aaron replied. “Correct to starboard three degrees and hold.”

The German witch did as she was told and stayed the course. A loud click resonated throughout their unseen surroundings and the massive stone doors behind them started closing. In ten seconds, the outside world was no more and they were now shrouded in midnight. “Now you can hit the lights.” Lucchini mentioned. Edytha flipped the switch and the beams cut through the inky black, sending it back to whence it came. What the light revealed was nothing short of breathtaking. They were traveling slowly along a deep underground waterway, the rays of light bouncing off rough hewn rock and built up salt deposits. Above them, stalactites hung down like swords from the high ceiling, their tips dripping moisture every so often into the brine or on top of the boat. Off on the right was a long stone platform with massive rocks embedded into it at selected intervals. Further along was a wide tunnel leading to parts unknown. Weaving in and among the rocks was Aaron, two long ropes in his hands, looking for a place to tie them off.

“This is amazing.” Neumann breathed out in wonder. “And it’s so well preserved. Astonishing.”

“Even with the war and the passage of time, a lot remains from the Greeks.” Francesca proudly proclaimed.

“What was this used for do you wonder?” Murphy asked, equally enthralled.

“Delos didn’t have any means of sustaining a viable population due to being so small so they relied heavily on getting supplies elsewhere. They built docks all over the place. This particular one I think could have been used as an escape route for the priests of the Temple of Apollo if they were ever attacked.” Lucchini theorized.

“Kill the engine Edytha.” Divale called out, lashing one of the ropes in his hands around a bulbous stone. The engine spluttered and died and the warlock made quick work in securing the boat. “Capio Bob.” he intoned as he put out his right hand. From somewhere within the floating vessel, the warlock’s backpack with his guns firmly secured to it by straps flew through the starboard side of the boat, punching a hole the size of a small box through the metal plating.

“What the fuck was that for?!” Neumann cried out from the driver’s cabin.

“Sorry. My hand must have slipped.” Aaron remarked with a smirk as he caught his pack and put it on. “I’m moving on ahead to check this place out.”

“You don’t need to Aaron. They already know we’re coming.” Yeager tried to assure, but Divale shut her out as he took out one of his Torkarev’s and cocked the hammer. _Maybe Shirley, but I’m not taking any chances._ In a flash, the warlock disappeared into the tunnel. His night vision kicked in automatically, the normally obscured features of his surroundings fully visible. The lieutenant moved in at the quick step, minding the floor and any possible avenues for ambush. The trail inside led on for a good twenty feet before hanging a hard left. He took it after checking the corner and soon a pattern started to emerge, one that was very familiar to Aaron. _Standard left right left design, used to hide possible lighting further on. Clever._ Once he took the second left, Divale could see a faint orange light at the end of the passageway, the smell of burning wood heavy in the air. Staying close to the wall and heel toeing the route all the way, he walked over to within two feet of the opening. Crouching down, he strained his ears to see if he could pick up any sounds. The warlock’s ears could pick up the crackling of the flames and something bubbling, but he couldn’t detect what. That was when his sensitive hearing picked up a sound so incredibly faint many would find it impossible to detect. Somewhere close by, right on his side of the wall in fact, Aaron heard a knuckle slightly pop over the sparking fire within the room. _Ambusher right on my directly across from me. They’ll attack low near the gut. Too easy._ Transferring his pistol to his left hand and taking a deep breath, Divale whipped around the corner, his right hand slightly pulled back near his chest. Just as he predicted, a knife shot forwards, but he much too fast for his assailant and he arrested the attack with a firm hold around the wrist.

A pair of deep ocean blue eyes widened in fear as Aaron rose to his full height, his own eyes glaring down at the figure of a woman in full Italian uniform, a major’s insignia on the collar. Her hair was a vibrant red, much more than Shirley’s and the face was quite fair, a rare feature indeed for an Italian soldier. Divale knew he had her right where he wanted her and he demanded as politely as he could, “Fallo cadere o ti farò cadere maggiore (Drop it or I’ll make you drop it major).”

“Non c'è bisogno di minacce qui amico mio (There is no need for threats here my friend).” an unseen aged female voice stated. “Si è verificato un problema sconosciuto. Vieni dentro e fammi vedere (I’m sure that this was some misunderstanding on both our parts. Come inside and let me see you).” Maintaining his hold on the major’s now trembling hand, he stepped further into the room and beheld what looked to be an exact replica of Erica’s room back at Dover. All sorts of bric a brac were scattered everywhere. Nothing seemed to make sense. From behind a veritable mountain of wooden ammo crates emerged an old woman, well into her sixties and probably no more than five foot tall with long white hair. At first glance, she could pass as anyone’s grandmother with her with apron, white button up, and a dark red shawl over her shoulders. Her wizened face was brightened by the fire and her brown eyes seemed fixated upon it. In her right hand she held a pair of tongs and the left pulled in her long charcoal black dress skirt that nearly grazed the top of the stone floor. Gingerly, she walked over towards the fire, keeping a close eye on the sparks. Once she was close enough, she reached into the blaze with the tongs and pulled out a covered iron pot hidden just out of view. She set it down and then faced Aaron, looking him up and down. “So you are the famous warlock, Lieutenant Aaron Divale.” the old woman declared.

 _That voice…. it’s the same one I heard back on the boat. There’s no mistake as to who this is._ “And I take it that you must be Lieutenant Anna Ferrara?” Divale assumed.

“You can let go of my assistant you know.” Anna pointed out. “She won’t harm you.”

 _With that thing, she wouldn’t be able to even if she tried._ The warlock released his vice like hold on the major’s hand and took one small step away from her. “No offense major…” he began, but trailed intentionally off.

Taking the hint, the Italian officer filled in the blanks. “Major Maria Pier of the II Paratroopers Battalion of the 185th Infantry Division.” she proudly stated in a very refined voice. “And as for the offense lieutenant, none taken. We didn’t exactly have forewarning of your arrival.”

“Which I’ve told Lucchini to remember time and time again.” Ferrara muttered under her breath. “Speaking of that, where are the rest of your friends?”

Thinking about it, Aaron moved into the room some more away from the opening and theorized, “Well, if I were a betting man, I’d say right about now.” he announced, snapping his fingers at the end.

As if he’d planned it all along, out popped Lucchini from the darkness with all smiles. “Hi Anna! Hi Maria!” she happily said, waving at them both. Right after her came Shirley, then Audie, and finally Edytha who still seemed under the spell of the place.

Ferrara walked up behind Francesca and remarked, “I seem to remember something about telling a certain someone to, oh I don’t know, let us know when you’re coming? Or am I really going senile?”

Francesca eyes bugged out when she realized what Anna was talking about. “Oh shit! I totally forgot about that!” she exclaimed.

The old lieutenant then clapped her on the back of the head, making the ensign yelp in pain. “This is the third time this has happened ensign. I’m very disappointed in your lack of regard for proper protocol.” she scolded.

“If it wasn’t for Lieutenant Divale’s quick reflexes, this happy reunion would’ve evolved into a medical emergency.” Pier added.

“Now, to be fair,” Divale interjected, coming to his friend’s defense, “it takes a lot more than a toothpick to put me down.”

“I’m sorry.” Francesca apologized. “I’ll remember next time. I promise.”

“Make sure that you do.” Anna replied. She then regarded the American soldier and commented, “So you must be the other. What’s your name young man?”

“Staff Sergeant Audie Murphy ma’am.” the soldier replied with a sharp salute as Lucchini went to sit by the fire, rubbing her sore head.

“No need for formality here young man.” Ferrara chuckled. “This technically isn’t army.”

Murphy relaxed and tipped his helmet, politely excusing himself. The aged witch then looked at Edytha. “And thus by process of elimination, you must be Air Commander Edytha Neumann.” she deduced. She then put on a puzzled look when the German simply stared at her in amazement instead of answering. “What’s with the awestruck face?” Anna inquired.

Neumann snapped herself out of her trance and rambled, “Well, when I heard your voice over the comms, I didn’t expect- well, what I mean to say is, I didn’t believe-”

“That I would be so old?” Ferrara interrupted with raised eyebrows and a sly smile. “That a witch my age would consider reenlisting? Don’t feel like you’re being disrespectful air commander. You’re the first person I’d had the pleasure of illuminating. I was already fairly advanced in age when I served in The Great War and I’m much further along now. A grandmother seven times over if you can believe that. Come everyone. Let’s sit by the fire and eat.” The group sat down will nilly without ceremony as Anna took up the tongs again and opened the lid to the pot. As she did so, Maria went over to a wooden ammo crate and pulled out enough plates, cups, and eating utensils for the seven of them and distributing them. The smell of cooked meat and vegetables filled the air as the contents of the pot were revealed, making everyone’s mouth water. “Tonight’s feast is lamb shoulders with carrots and onions.” Ferrara announced and then began the process of serving everyone.

Francesca frowned when she heard the main entree and groaned, “How can you call yourself an Italian if you don’t cook any pasta? I haven’t had so much as a noodle of rigatoni in weeks.”

“How about an MRE then?” Yeager hastily suggested, eager to avoid yet another dinner table argument.

“I don’t want that dried pig’s face.” Lucchini complained. “I want a real homecooked meal with some dessert. I’d give anything just to have a bite of Yoshika’s cooking.”

“More for me then.” Aaron quipped, reaching for her plate of food. He didn’t even come within two inches of the dish before the feisty Italian brandished her knife.

“Il mio cibo! Nessun tocco (My food! No touch)!” Lucchini snapped, eyeing Divale warily and drawing it closer to her body. “Ti combatterò (I’ll fight you)!”

“Avanti, allora (Bring it on then).” the warlock playfully goaded, beckoning her closer with a simple finger movement. “Vediamo se riesci a durare più a lungo di Gertrude (Let's see if you can last longer than Gertrude).”

“How about let’s not and just say you did.” Maria stated. The two friends looked at each other and decided silently among themselves that the major had a decent point.

“You’re lucky she stopped me.” Francesca uttered under her breath.

Neumann looked over at Ferrara who was in the process of placing the last bits of food on her plate and queried, “Is dinner always this contentious?”

“Well as my father used to say,” Audie began, “it wouldn’t be a proper Italian dinner if it wasn’t.”

The warlock exploded into peals of laughter and the Italians and Americans of the group joined in, leaving the poor German wondering just what in the actual hell was going on. “And it also wouldn’t be a proper Italian dinner without something good to drink.” Yeager brought up. She reached into her pack and pulled out a large bottle of whiskey and plunked it down on the ground.”Help yourselves.”

Aaron’s jaw dropped open when he saw the bottle. _Wait one fucking minute! That’s my booze!_ “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” he emphatically stated while making a T with his hands. “You, one of the few people in this world that I consider a friend, had the balls to go through my stuff and pilfer my whiskey?” When all he got in return was a shrug and a wink, Divale leaned forwards. “There are five things of mine that one shouldn’t touch without permission. One is the woman I love, second my friends, three is for money, four is my ride, and five is most definitely my alcohol. To hell with Francesca, I’ll fight you.” he warned.

In response to the halfhearted threat, Shirley leaned in herself and dared, “You’ll have to catch me first.” The warlock licked his lips and glared at the witch, his mind contemplating whether he should accept the challenge.

“Well I’ll most certainly help myself.” Anna proclaimed as she took the bottle into her hands. She cast a sideways glance over at Aaron and added, “That is of course if I have permission.”

Divale sighed and allowed it with a wave of his right hand. With that, off came the cap and out poured the whiskey into Ferrara’s cup. When she had enough, the bottle was passed around. When it came for Shirley to fill her mug, she instead started to pour some into Lucchini’s which caused her to cry out, “What the hell are you doing Shirley?! I don’t drink that crap!”

“Have you even had whiskey before?” Yeager asked, filling her own mug this time.

“Well, no but-” Francesca explained, but was then cut off by the captain.

“Well don’t fucking shit on it if you haven’t tried it Francesca. It’s not going to kill you to venture out of that pro Italian this and that shell of yours once in a while.” Yeager countered.

“Ha un'insegna (She has a point ensign).” Maria quipped.

“And it should also be a point that the more we bicker like this, the food’s getting cold.” Edytha pointed out. “I didn’t drive a boat for several hours straight in the dead of night just to enjoy meat and vegetables that feel like ice cubes in my mouth.”

“Agreed.” Anna concurred. She raised her mug of whiskey and proceeded to toast. “To a joyous reunion and an additional step towards victory.” she stated.

***************

Aaron let the fork fall from his hand and clatter on the empty plate. As he swallowed the last of his meal his sighed with pleasure. _Now that hit the spot._ “That was absolutely amazing.” he said with no doubt in his voice. “My deepest compliments to the chef and her staff.”

“Yes definitely.” Murphy agreed, reaching for the whiskey bottle again.

“Why thank you.” Ferrara stated. “Sometimes the best meal is something simple.”

Divale leaned back against the stone wall and looked around. Maria was busying herself with picking up the dishes while Edytha was looking a tad concerned about what she was seeing across from her. Curious, the warlock took a prospective gander and saw Lucchini with the biggest smile on her face as she continued to sip from her mug of whiskey. “You know something?” the Italian slightly slurred to Shirley. “This stuff isn’t that bad once you get past the burn.”

“Told you.” Yeager simply said. “Though I think you’ve had enough Francesca. You should slow down or get some sleep.”

“Not before we hear Lieutenant Ferrara’s plan.” Neumann remarked, wanting to now get to the point. Regarding Anna, she asked, “You do have a plan of attack?”

Of course.” the aged witch replied. She let out a small whistle in the major’s direction. Once she got her attention, the lieutenant instructed, “Dammi la mappa e qualcosa su cui impostarla (Get me the map and something to set it on).” Major Pier nodded and rummaged around for a bit before coming back with a stool and a rolled up piece of parchment. She plunked the stool done and handed off the map to Anna who unfolded it. “Everyone gather around. It’d be better if everyone saw this.” With that said, wobbly feet from a full stomach and string alcohol made their way on over. “Alright folks,” Ferrara began slowly, “this is the best plan I can come up with given the resources that we have available. This is where we are and here is where the nest is, inside the excavated ruins of The Temple of the Delians roughly half a mile away.”

The air commander’s eyes bugged out in shock and fear. “The enemy is that close and you’re burning wood?! What if they see the smoke?!” she exclaimed.

“The door leading deeper into the tunnel network is always kept shut as a precaution.” Maria explained. “Natural air flow takes all of it back where you came from and by the time it gets sucked out into the outside, nothing appears out of the ordinary.”

“Speaking of which, where is this door you speak of?” Audie asked, looking around but not seeing it.

“Right over there.” Anna answered, pointing off to the far upper right corner of the room. “It’s hidden and we keep plenty of cloths jammed into the frame. If you go through there, it will take you to within five hundred feet of the nest location. The main exit is covered by a fairly large boulder, one that Lieutenant Divale will have to move.”

“No problem.” Aaron confidently stated. “Then what?”

“Shirley, Lucchini, Edytha, and I will fly up through the hole and start engaging targets and clear a path for you, Maria, and Audie to make a break for the nest.” Ferrara responded. “It is up a steep incline, but I feel with that with your magic active, you’ll be able to get up there with no issue.”

Maria turned to Aaron and indicated a small tin box resting next to some sleeping bags. “Inside that container is about ten pounds of Comp B, the detonator, and the cord.” she illuminated. “The objective is to get to the temple, clear out hostiles in the interior, set the charges, and get out of there.”

“What!” Lucchini yelled, dropping her mug on the ground. “You can’t do that! That’s an important piece of history and my childhood you’re talking about blowing up there and I don’t like it! This is not going to happen! I refuse!”

Major Pier rose to her full height, somewhere around 5’4”, and glared a hole through her. “Are you willfully disobeying a direct order from your superior Ensign Lucchini? Think very hard about what you say next.” she warned.

“I have and I do willfully disobey!” Francesca roared, standing up and staring right back at her. “This is fucking crazy and I’ll have no part of it! Any of it!”

“Please calm down ensign.” Ferrara pleaded. “I know how much this island and it’s treasures mean to you, but there’s no choice in the matter. To destroy the nest, we must do away with the temple as well.”

“No! I refuse to believe that! There has to be some other way!” the witch cried out, tears welling in her green eyes.

“There is no other way!” Pier screamed back.

“Actually,” Aaron’s voice chimed in, the tone raised enough of an octave to quell the argument, “there is a way. I have a spell that I can use that will limit the outward projection of the blast, concentrating it to where it needs to be.”

“See! See! He can do that! You don’t have to destroy it!” Francesca pointed out.

“There’s just one problem.” Divale went on sadly. “I have to be in close proximity to maintain the spell so I won’t be coming out with Maria and Audie.” He regarded his selected teammates and added, “I won’t be able to protect you out there. I’m sorry.”

“Lieutenant Ferrara. Is there any cover whatsoever they can use while evacuating?” Edytha asked.

“Unfortunately no.” Anna replied.

“Well that makes the situation even worse.” Shirley stated. “It’s either kill the nest but lose the temple or we do this and risk the major and staff sergeant’s lives. And if they don’t make it, who then gets the detonator and sets it all off?”

“Worry about that detail when you have to.” Murphy countered. “Though we as soldiers know the risks, believe you me, I’m not afraid to do that and I have no intention of having this mission be my last. I’m all for this. I’m in.”

Anna looked squarely at Maria and queried in a voice that made it clear that she didn’t want to ask, “And you major? Are you fine with this arrangement?” When Pier nodded in the affirmative, the old witch sighed. “I honestly think you should reconsider major. If you were to die, the consequences would be immeasurable.”

“The staff sergeant is right.” Maria replied. “We are soldiers and we wouldn’t have enlisted if we didn’t know the risks and the consequences. That and it would make Ensign Lucchini much better about this. I’m doing it.”

“If you both are in agreement, then it's decided.” Ferrara concluded. “The operation will commence at 1100 hours. Get a good night's sleep and good luck out there tomorrow. Dismissed.” With that done, the group began to disperse all over the place, looking for somewhere decent to get some shut eye. The old witch noticed that Aaron was making a beeline for the tunnel leading back out to the dock and raised her eyebrow. “There's plenty of room in here for you too lieutenant.”

“I know.” Divale replied, digging into his breast pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “Just want to have a little smoke before bed.” Soon after he said that he disappeared in the dark. Out of sight, the warlock sighed as he felt only one last smoke in the pack. _I really need to make sure I pack more for trips like this._ He continued walking until he got a good fifteen feet away from the entrance, a spot where he was close enough to hear anything going on, yet far away to where he couldn't be seen. Aaron tapped the bottom of the pack and out shot the cigarette, landing squarely in his mouth. Secured by his lips, he crushed the pack into a wad and put in back in his pocket. Then he searched for his lighter. _Tomorrow is going to be an exercise in prayer. With me staying behind, there's nothing protecting them at all. I know Murphy's good shit, but the major is a wildcard. I fucking hate wildcards; you never know their value until they're played._ Divale found it, flicked it open, and struck. However, luck was not on his side as instead of flame, nothing but sparks came sputtering out. Two more strikes and the same happened. Curious, he shook the lighter and listened. _Just my fucking luck. Ran out of fluid. Guess I'll have to go on back and-_ Suddenly, a lighter came on, but it wasn't his. Turning his head to where he heard the strike, his eyes beheld a small flame hovering near his chest, the outline of Edytha's hand and face wavering with the shadow play. Realizing what she was doing, he calmly leaned forward and took a quick puff to light the cigarette. “Danke (Thank you).” he stated as he rose back to his full height and leaned against the wall. “You smoke?” he asked after taking drag.

“No.” Neumann answered, flicking the lighter shut and leaning against the opposite wall. “It's just a useful thing to have, that's all.” She let him have a moment to relax before inquiring, “So what do you think of the plan?”

“Well, as Anna said, it was the best that she could do given the circumstances.” Aaron responded. “Kind of hoped that there would be some sort of cover for them when they get out of there.”

“We'll watch their backs lieutenant. Don't worry about it.” the air commander assured.

“Too late.” Divale muttered. “What do you think of it?”

“Personally I would've put my foot down and went with the original plan, regardless of what the ensign thought.” Edytha replied.

“As would I,” the warlock agreed, “but I don't like seeing my friends cry.”

“Sometimes in war you have to grow a heart of stone.” the witch pointed out. “I don't like it, but when you're in a do or die situation, emotions get in the way.”

“And that is why I don't like being in command at all Edytha.” Aaron explained. “I look the part of a ruthless son of a bitch, but deep down, I'm just a big softy.”

The comment drew a furrowed brow from Neumann who regarded him with a concerned eye. “You sound off there Lieutenant Divale. Is something amiss?”

Smoke curled out of Divale's mouth as he shook is head and sighed.  _Oh great, now you too?_ “I take it that Audie opened his mouth eh?” he queried.

“You should be thankful that he did.” the air commander curtly countered. “A good soldier doesn't just look out for himself, but also his friends. He told me about what's going on. I agreed to apply pressure on Hanna for everyone's sake, but you really need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get better.”

“It's just a passing phase.” the lieutenant stated between his teeth. “It's no different from what I've dealt with before. It will pass.”

“I'll hold you to that Lieutenant Divale.” Edytha warned with flashing eyes. “Because if you don't, I'm going to accelerate that recovery time a great deal.”

Now Aaron's eyes flashed and he took the cigarette out his mouth as to better give his superior a piece of his mind, but before he could make his case, something moved from the leftmost fringes of his peripheral vision. He couldn't move fast enough to avoid being ran into by the falling drunken form of Lucchini who apparently had wandered off from the main group. Though she was so much smaller than he was, Divale was flatfooted and he toppled onto his rump, his smoke spiraling out of his hand. Both Neumann and Aaron looked down with a mixture of surprise and horror at Francesca whose head was resting squarely on top of the warlock's groin, snoring lightly as the effects of the whiskey sent her into a deep slumber.

“Such a nice pillow.” she murmured as she nuzzled her newfound resting place. “So warm.”

Divale panicked and his eyes darted up to Edytha. “Help me get her off of me!” he hissed. Neumann sprang into action, placing her left hand on the ensign's head to try to wake her up.  _Come on girl! Wake up! Wake up! If Shirley were to see this-_ His thought died as he picked up a shaft of light coming from a flash light that was slowly panning upwards towards the three of them.

“Oh there you are Francesca.” Yeager said, relieved that she had now found her wingman. “You really shouldn't wander off like-” The last part of her statement didn't come out as the beam washed over a scene that made her jaw drop. Towards the far wall was Lucchini, her head positioned right over Aaron's nethers with Edytha's hand against the ensign's head. 

Divale's mouth went dry as he saw the shock in Shirley's eyes turn into something else, something that he knew wasn't going to be good.  _Fuck my life._

*************

“I had the most wonderful dream last night.” Francesca recollected as she walked alongside Aaron and Shirley as they tailed Edytha, Anna, Audie, and Maria. The operation start time was less than ten minutes away and the whole unit was already making their way down the long tunnel that would take them almost to the doorstep of the temple. “I dreamed that I was sleeping in a cloud high above the world. But it wasn't any ordinary cloud. It was warm, so very warm that it would make all your stress melt away. That and it was soft yet firm at the same time. Really amazing when you think about it.”

“Well I dreamed that I was chasing after some guy because I saw him do something that I felt was quite inappropriate.” Shirley illuminated while casting a sideways glance over at Aaron who looked very uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Thankfully when I finally caught up to him, it was revealed that it was all a great misunderstanding.”

“Glad you two had some sweet dreams.” Divale quipped with a grimace. “I had a nightmare to top all nightmares. I was running for dear life away from this crazy knife wielding lady who wanted to cut off my c-”

“Could it be that you messed around with her best friend?” Francesca wondered aloud, interrupting Aaron's train of thought.

“Uuuuuuhhhhhh.” the warlock droned, not sure how to proceed as he saw Yeager stifling a laugh.

“Or maybe she was jealous that it was her friend that you diddled with instead of her.” Lucchini theorized. The warlock guffawed as Shirley grew red in the face. The ensign noticed and cocked her head to one side. “What's that all about?” she asked, clearly puzzled. “What's up with you two?”

“Oh nothing! Nothing at all!” the lieutenant and the captain blurted simultaneously.

“Oh,” Francesca remarked, satisfied with the answer, “just wondering. You both have been acting very strange.”

“Just premission jitters.” Aaron explained, rubbing the back of his head. “It happens to the best of us.” He looked on ahead at the rest of them and his eyes fell on a peculiar sight. Clutched firmly in the old but strong hands of Anna was a simple broom, the kind that any housewife would use to clean the whole house with.  _What the fuck does she think she's doing!? No way in hell she's going up with that!_ “She's going to fly up with you two using that?” he asked.

“That she is.” Yeager answered. “She's very good with that thing. The maneuvers I've seen her pull off could rival Erica's. Maybe even yours.”

“Remember Aaron, she was already in the air force quite some time before The Great War.” Lucchini reminded. “Our nation back then didn't have a lot of money so many of our pilots went up just like that.”

_Wow. And all this time I thought that Yoshika was the only one with diamond balls._ The warlock shrugged his shoulders and let the matter drop, listening to the footsteps as he prepared mentally for what was soon about to happen.  _Alright Aaron, here's the plan. You give the rock a nudge and let the ladies get out. Wait until you have Audie and Maria secured and then go up. Stop for nothing until you get inside that place. After that, it's a standard breach and clear._ “We're here ladies and gentlemen.” Anna announced, coming to a halt near a ten foot high set of stone steps leading up to the opening to outside world, one that was covered by a large boulder. Turning around she motioned for Aaron to come forward and he did so on the double. “It's all on you young man.” 

“Don't worry Lieutenant Ferrara. I've got this.” Divale replied, walking up the steps. “Start warming up.” The sounds of three sets of Strikers coming to life turned the silent passageway into a wind tunnel, the gusts causing loose dust from ages past to whip around like miniature whirlwinds. The warlock paid it no mind and instead took a gander at the obstacle in front of him.  _This is straight up granite. Given the diameter of the hole, this is probably close to four maybe five hundred pounds worth of stone. No problem at all._ Getting as close as he could, he knelt down and pressed his right shoulder into the cool granite, looking like a modern day portrayal of Atlas. He looked down at the assembled witches and stated, “On your mark Anna.”

“Execute.” the aged witch replied, levitating in mid air while astride her broom. In a flash, Aaron pushed up with his legs and threw everything he had into the move. The stone came up off the hole and near noon daylight flood over him, the rush of fresh air whistling through his hair. As he sent the granite boulder up and away, his eyes looked upon a sparsely vegetated area of land, thorny brush thick and rampant around his immediate vicinity. A small tree lay nearby, but the branches were so short that it couldn't even begin to block the sun overhead, shining brightly in a near cloudless sky. In the distance, up a incline of roughly forty degrees, was the ruins of the temple itself, merely a three and a half foot tall foundation, some steeped platforms, and fragmented columns all to show for over two thousands years of existence. Try as he might, Divale couldn't see the entrance from his position, but he could definitely see at least ten Cataphractii on patrol, panning their dual cannons left and right. High above were at least two squadrons of Neuroi fighters. Time seemed to stand still for him as he quickly ducked back down into the tunnel and threw himself off to the side, allowing the witches room to get out.

“Move out!” he yelled over the din. As one, the four pilots flew forwards and out of the hole, the sounds of gunfire following close behind. Audie and Maria ran up to Aaron who got scrambled back up to his feet and inched his way forwards once more. Neuroi beamer fire could be heard now, the freem of crimson death lashing out at their allies. “Take my hands you two and don't let go for anything.” he instructed, holding his hands out. “We're going to run up that bitch.” Both soldiers did as they were told and Divale subvocalized his obscurum, cloaking all three of them as silently as the decent of nightfall. “On the count of three, two, one, run like Hell!” he roared. Six feet pounded up the steps and emerged properly upon the island of Delos, once a proud site of holiness but now tainted by the fire of war. The towering black and red figures of the Neuroi continued to fire at the witches high above, the heat radiating from each blast in waves. Holding onto his charges like a parent does their children when wading through a crowd, the warlock led the way forwards, his friends trying their best to keep up with his long strides. He didn't look up at the air battle surely raging above their heads, but focused on what was in front of him.  _We can't afford to get held up. The longer this goes on, the higher the odds someone is going to get hurt._ A Cataphractii took a series of shots from the sky and collapsed into a heap, the death shards materializing shortly afterwards. They quickly swept through the area, coating everything in a fine white mist. 

That was when his feet started to feel the changes in the earth, the high incline straining his ankles. Looking over at Maria and Audie, they too experienced the pain, much more than he did. He could see it in their faces, the pursed lips, and stiff jaws, but they soldiered onwards.  _Stay with me damn it. Stay with me._ The trio blew into and through the Neuroi death cloud, bits of the stuff falling this way and that. The temple ruins were getting closer with each lunging step.  _Okay now. Two hundred, one fifty, one hundred, fifty...._ Suddenly, four Legionarys seemed to appear out of nowhere from close by the foundations, their limbs panning upwards and standing in the way of their progress. Aaron made a hard turn to the right, wrenching his friend's arms hard. Major Pier didn't so much as utter a peep in protest, but Murphy grunted in agony. One of the Neuroi picked out the cry from the battle and started to trace the shot, its beamers whining as they started to power up.  _Oh fuck!_ Even though, Divale knew it couldn't see them, it was going to fire. He unfurled his wings at the same time the Legionary unleashed its fury, sweeping the immediate area with dozens of beams. Soil blew up from its resting places like small geysers, whole patches of vegetation smoking like chimneys as they caught fire. Shot after shot struck the angelic wings and caromed upwards, downwards, anywhere but into the flesh of the major and staff sergeant. Looping around the enemy, Aaron could now finally see the temple ruins in full detail as well as where the Neuroi had come from. Right in front them was a large opening that led down into some sort of underground chamber. 

Bolting forwards, the three managed to get down a good five feet and hunkered in place. It was then and only then that Aaron let them go, letting them get their guns out. “Alright people,” he stated, shouldering his machine gun and slowly racking the slide as to not make any unnecessary noise, “I'll take the lead, Maria will support, and Audie will cover the rear. Now look Murphy, you see them start making their way back here, give me a shot and I'll protect you with my wing. Got it?” The American nodded and Divale silently moved on up, his left wing in front of him like a shield as he looked down the sights of his gun, searching for targets. His vision picked up shifting movement some distance up ahead and his instincts kicked in.  _We've been spotted and they're setting up for an ambush. This is going to get hairy._

*************

Ferrara squeezed the trigger of her Carcano rifle and the weapon kicked hard against her shoulder. Grimacing in pain, she stayed the course, watching the round speed through the air and wing an enemy fighter, the Neuroi spinning like a faulty frisbee down into the sea. Two more dove down from above in unison, firing as they descended.  _Ha! I may be old, but I'm far from gone you bastards. Catch me if you can._ She veered hard left, rolling down and climbing slighty upwards towards Edytha who was in the process of dispatching another target. “Neumann! I'm coming in hot! Six o clock low! There's two behind me!” Anna radioed. 

“Understood. Engaging.” the air commander replied calmly as she let loose a stream of lead from her MG42. The burst nailed the Neuroi dead center and it exploded in a cloud of white. With her prey dispatched, she executed a perfect Immelmann and started to dive. Aiming carefully, she instructed, “Prepare to jink hard right on my mark lieutenant.”

“Ready when you are.” the old witch assured as she avoided another beam from her pursuers.

“Mark!” Edytha shouted. Ferrara veered away and the German witch let loose. The gunfire sounded like a buzzsaw as round after round whizzed out of the barrel. Caught out in the open, the enemy had no chance to get away. Even if they could, Neumann was smart enough to cut off their obvious escape routes, allowing the natural recoil to sweep from left to right. The enemy fighters lasted on this earth for mere seconds as they took the burnt of the fire before dying.

“Splendid shooting Air Commander Neumann.” Anna commented as she reloaded her Carcano and regrouped alongside her.

“Thank you.” Edytha replied. “You're no slouch yourself.”

“You really expect anything less from a Great War veteran of my caliber?” Ferrara asked with a smile on her face. Not waiting for an answer, she looked over her shoulder to see if she could find any trace of Shirley or Lucchini. Suddenly, a large shield could be seen, projected by the tiny ensign as she was thrown from the captain. The two were close to the island's surface, flying hard and fast, drawing the attention of the Cataphractii. Over her comms, Anna could hear Francesca screaming a warcry as he spun like a bullet. The enemy fired beam after beam at her, but all the shots simply bounced off. Like a meteor, witch and Neuroi collided, creating a blinding flash of light.

“Ensign Lucchini! Are you alright?! Please respond!” Neumann barked over the communicator.

“Oh she's perfectly fine air commander.” Yeager answered. “Take another look.” Edytha did so and her eyes bulged as the ensign's trail of destruction continued until she climbed back up into the air and started to engage an aerial target with Shirley close by.

“We'll regroup at two o clock high and provide cover for your six.” Anna ordered. “Also, see if you can raise Lieutenant Divale and get me a sitrep.”

“On it.” Francesca stated, rolling at a reduced speed to allow Shirley to take the kill. She thumbed her ear communicator and spoke into the speaker, “Can you hear me Aaron? Where are you? What's going on in there?”

A symphony of beamer fire and gun shots made her wince as her ears were buffeted by the hard sounds. “We're in the temple right now,” Divale answered admist the chaos, “but we're encountering heavy resistance at every turn! They're practically coming out of the fucking walls and both Murphy and Pier are almost out of ammo! They just keep coming!”

“Non fermarti ora Aaron (Don't stop now Aaron)!” Lucchini pleaded. “Devi passare! Questo deve funzionare (You need to get through! This has to work)!”

“Lo so (I know that)!” the warlock retorted. “Non ti vedrò piangere di nuovo Francesca e questa è una promessa! Aspettare... Penso che stiamo arrivando sul nido! Divale fuori (I'm not going to see you cry again Francesca and that's a promise! Wait... I think we're coming up on the nest! Divale out)!”

***************

Aaron took down another Legionary with a well aimed shot to the head and continued to advance, carefully minding the decline as his boots crunched pebbles into dust and kicked loose bits of marble from the steps. Next to him was Maria, reloading her MP40 and behind panning with his Thompson was Audie, sweat slowly streaming down his face. All were protected by his wings, appendages heavily marred with blackened feathers from the burns.  _It's been a fucking shooting gallery since we got in here and it hasn't let up a bit. Hopefully this is where the nest is. We can't keep going on like this._ Taking a glance around his wings, Divale couldn't see anyone else coming up to engage them. “Anything on our ass Murphy?” he asked without looking.

“I've got nothing Aaron.” the American replied, not taking his eyes off their rear.

“Start hunkering down people.” the warlock commanded. Turning to Maria he instructed, “Regroup with Audie and stay put. I'll go on alone. Give me the Comp B.”

Pier nodded and started to take off her backpack. “Good luck lieutenant.” she said as she handed it over to him.

“I'm not the one who needs it.” Aaron politely retorted, holding the bag with his left hand. “Just make sure you both get out alive. That's an order.” After that was said, Divale drew in his wings and moved out, leaving his friends behind. Ahead of him was a sharp turn to the right and a dull glow painted the walls a weak shade of red.  _This has got to be it, but why is the light so weak? Is it a smaller core?_ Placing his back to the wall, he took a deep breath and whipped around. What he saw before him, made him cock his eyebrows. Suspended by long jagged lines of what looked like rubies was a Neuroi core the size of a hubcap. Squinting his eyes, the warlock noticed pickaxes scattered about the floor and the hidden forms of more cores within the support structure.  _Now this is most fascinating. It's growing cores like trees do roots. So that's how they managed to get so many of them. They'd come over every so often, hack off a member or two, chip away the debris and viola, you have the cores._ “I've found the nest people!” he called out as he started opening the backpack. “I'm getting the Comp B set now!”

“Understood!” Audie yelled back. He looked over at Maria and asked, “How much ammo do you have left?”

“Just this last clip.” Pier answered.

Murphy then reached into his pocket and pulled out his Colt pistol and several clips. “I still have plenty of Thompson ammo. Take these.” he offered.

“Listen you don't-” the major began, but the staff sergeant simply placed it at her feet.

“Well I want to, so take them.” the American countered.

“All set here!” Aaron stated loudly. “I'm throwing you the detonator and cord now!” None of them had any time to answer in the affirmative before the backpack was thrown through the air. It landed just behind Maria and she started unpacking the important parts after she stowed away the pistol and the clips that Murphy graciously donated.

As she pulled out the components a thought crossed her mind and she called out, “Say lieutenant. I just had a thought. If you can mitigate the damage entirely, we could just stay here and blow it. We wouldn't have to run outside.”

“Do you really trust the foundations of a building over two thousand years old?” Divale retorted. When no response came back after a few seconds, he continued, “Yeah, I thought not. Let me know when you're ready. I'll be waiting here.”

“You take point staff sergeant.” Maria instructed, holding the MP40 in her right hand and the detonator in the left. Murphy nodded and advanced at the quick step. Thumbing her communicator, the major dialed in Ferrara's frequency and said, “Lieutenant, this is Major Pier. Aaron has the Comp B in place and me and Staff Sergeant Murphy are beginning to evacuate now. Entrance ETA sixty seconds. Over.”

“Great work. Standby when you get there. Me and the air commander are going to get you out of there. Ferrara out.” Anna replied.

“You get all that?” Maria asked Audie who was making good progress back towards the entrance.

“Loud and clear ma'am.” the American replied. Suddenly, he saw four black shadows along the steps. “Get down!' he yelled as he dove for cover. Angry crimson beamer fire swept over the stone, wiping out huge gaps and filling the air with the smell of vaporized rock. Gritting his teeth, Murphy fished for a grenade and found one. He quickly pulled out the pin, counted down two seconds and threw it up the passageway. A clatter was heard moments before a deafening boom. Audie looked behind him and sighed with relief when he saw that Maria was still alright. “Come on!” he demanded as he continued to go forwards. Bringing the sub machine gun close to his right cheek now, he started to get really tense.  _They could be still alive. Remember the training. Don't shoot until you see the body and make them count._ The sounds of non human limbs scratching against old weathered stone reached his ears and he got up flush against the right hand wall, giving himself an angle. Through the smoke, he saw two Legionary still kicking, the lower torsos all gone. Not wasting any time, Audie sprayed over them both, killing the Neuroi with a hail of lead. Pier made it up to him as they died and the two moved on up. The entrance was now within a hands reach and they hunkered down, watching the skies. 

The thrum of Strikers roared overhead and the forms of Shirley and Lucchini whizzed overhead, firing from their weapons. Right behind came Anna and Edytha who hovered over the entrance. “Hurry! We can't hold for long!” Neumann bellowed, extending her hand to Murphy as Ferrara held hers out to Maria. The two thankful soldiers clasped the hands of their respective saviors and got hauled up as best as they could. “Hold on!” the air commander instructed. “We're moving out ladies! Let's go!” As one, the quartet of witches zoomed upwards and onwards, narrowly missing a barrage of Cataphractii fire. 

As they sped away, Maria radioed Aaron. “We're clear! Blowing the charges in three, two, one!” she relayed before pressing down hard on the plunger. She looked over her shoulder and waited. No sound of detonation occurred, but the forms of the Cataphractii that fired upon them started to convulse for but a moment before disintegrating into white death. “He did it! We got the nest!” she cried out with joy.

Everyone whooped and hollered and Neumann smiled.  _This crazy plan actually worked. Miracles do happen I guess._ “Lieutenant Divale can you read me?” she inquired into her comms. Nothing came over the radio waves and Edytha got a sinking feeling. “I repeat, Lieutenant Divale can you read me? This is Neumann. Say something.” Again, no response.  _Oh no._ She swung around and dove down hard, making her way back to the temple entrance which was now billowing black smoke. Upon landing, the air commander made her way towards the foundations and screamed, “Aaron! Where are you?! Answer me! Aaron!”

A series of hard rasping coughs finally responded and out of the cloud stepped the warlock, covered head to foot in soot black, his hair spread out all over the place like a mad scientist. “Mama mia.” he croaked, waving his hand in front of his face. “That was one spicy meatball.” Noticing Edytha, he queried, “So how bad do I look right now?”

“Besides looking like you just got out of a collapsed coal mine, pretty damn good.” Neumann beamed. “Great job Lieutenant Divale.”

Aaron gave a weak salute and started wandering towards the sea. “If it's all the same to you, I'm getting cleaned up before we get back to the front.” he stated.

“You both are getting some leave when you get there.” Edytha explained as the rest of the team started landing nearby. “It's only right considering what you all did here today.”

Divale cocked his eyebrow and grinned from ear to ear. “You hear that shit Audie?” he asked. “We're actually getting a fucking break.” A thought crossed his mind and he beckoned his superior to come closer. When she did, he whispered, “Would it be alright if I took my a bit further behind the lines? Tatiana is a little bit out of the allowed zone and I was wondering I you could grant me that.”

Neumann crossed her arms over her chest, knowing what it was that he was getting at, and muttered, “Really lieutenant?”

“It's been over a week and I'm a walking stress bomb.” the warlock pleaded. “I need this.”

Groaning internally, the air commander nodded. “You have my permission.” she replied, causing Aaron to explode in a raucous fashion. Watching him practically dance with joy as he meandered towards the water, Edytha couldn't help but smile.  _Ah well. Boys will be boys._


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious bout of sleeplessness has the 31st in a stranglehold. Aaron's help is sought in order to solve the problem, but to do so, he will have to share a dark secret, one that could have grave consequences.

_ **Chapter XVI: Dream Warriors** _

_I hate the fucking bitch with all my heart and soul and I will never trust her for as long as I live, but I have to admit that Ismenoth is a very good teacher and motivator. I mean, I'm still alive so I guess that counts for something right?_

Diary Entry June 15 th  1944

The mistress watched the neophyte writhe on the stone floor after she backhanded her down the steps leading towards the dais. Matilda stood close by spear in hand, waiting for her orders. Moaning in pain, the shrouded woman got up, a lock of her blond hair showing through the hood covering her face. “My mistress,” she pleaded, “it wasn't my fault. I couldn't figure out where he had gone. It was like he disappeared.”

“People like the warlock simply don't vanish into thin air!” Matilda growled. “It only seemed that way to you because of your incompetence and thanks to you, our supply of cores at Delos was destroyed!”

“I was not incompetent!” the neophyte snapped back, incensing the bodyguard even more. “Please believe me mistress!”

The mistress said nothing, narrowing her cold eyes. “I believe that you need a lesson in what happens to those that fail me.” she suggested, motioning to Matilda. A smile appeared on the face of the witch and she started walking towards the doomed woman who collapsed to her knees, holding her hands out before her.

“No my mistress!” the neophyte begged, trying to inch herself away from her fate. “Give me another chance! I will redeem myself in your eyes! I will kill-”

“Shut up you useless trash.” Matilda retorted, raising the assagai over he head.

“Hold.” the mistress commanded, walking down the steps. Her guardian did as she was told and stayed her hand, taking two steps away. “What was that last part?” she asked, directing the question at the neophyte.

Swallowing hard, the neophyte answered, “I will kill for you.”

“Many already have and do.” the mistress stated. “What makes you think that death will satisfy me?”

“I will kill anyone you wish of me to kill. I don't care if it's the warlock himself, I will not hesitate.” the woman confidently responded. She bowed, her head touching the stone floor. “I will not fail you again my mistress. This I swear.”

The dark matriarch looked down and away, thinking it over. Seconds ticked by and no answer came, making the neophyte glance over several times at Matilda who merely tensed her hands around the spear shaft. “Very well.” she finally decreed. “You will be tasked with killing the members of the 31st, but leave the warlock alive. I still have plans for his eventual comeuppance. Now go.”

The declaration surprised the bodyguard who saw the neophyte gratuitously thank her savior and beat a hasty retreat from the room. _How strange. Normally mercy wouldn't be shown for such failure._ Matilda looked over at the mistress who was standing there, staring back at he floor, her straight posture oddly sagging. Concerned, the warrior inquired, “Is something the matter my mistress?”

“I feel that the tides fortune have left for good my dear.” the mistress sadly replied. “The loss of Delos was a blow that we cannot hope to recover from. From this point on, we're only going to get weaker and weaker. The war is over.”

“Not as long as one of us draws breath.” Matilda countered. “We will fight for you and your dream my mistress to the very end.”

“Though your determination and loyalty is much appreciated my child, will and will alone won't alter the final outcome. All we can do is buy enough time for me to bring the warlock into the fold.” the mistress stated.

Matilda took a step back in shock. “He would join us?” she queried, not sure that she heard correctly.

“Yes.” the mistress replied with a smile. “In the end, he will listen to my words and turn to us. After that, we will depart this place and start the conflict anew, somewhere more urban, more plentiful in resources. This I have foreseen.” She then regarded her guardian and added, “Sadly, I did not see you involved in any of my visions of this glorious development. I fear that you will die.”

“I do not fear death my mistress.” Matida stated. “The fact that your victory is assured will give me joy, even in my last moments on earth.”

“Speaking of fear,” the mistress mused, “I believe it is time we ratchet up the pressure on our foes. Tell the wardens to bring her out of her slumber.”

Matilda bowed and respectfully left the room, making sure to turn away at a particular angle so as to not let her charge see the look of fear on her face. _She's allowing the likes of her to wake up?_

**********

Laughter. All that girl received was cruel laughter as she slowly got up from the muddy ground. Her back must have hurt for she was rubbing it with her hand. She turned around and faced her attacker. Another pair of unseen eyes regarded her with indifference and inhumanity as tears fell down her mud streaked face. In a flash, that moment is gone and the world is replaced with that of a field triage. The girl is there, holding her red swollen hands in agony as the nurse applies ointment to reduced the swelling. Just outside the tent flap the same cold eyes watched, a smile on the face. Another burst of light and she again is subjected to vicious verbal barrages while flying through the sky. The attacker continues at a fevered pitch for the girl is unresponsive. Anger rises and the assailant draws closer, yet stops dead when she notices something dripping from the side of the girl's face. At first, the thought of tears come to mind, but no tears ever cried were red. Red like blood. A trembling hand reaches out and gently turns the limp neck.

Elizabeth woke up screaming, sitting straight up in her bed. Her breathing was heavy and ragged and her eyes were bulging. Looking around, she saw that nothing was amiss in her room. The girl was gone, the sky was gone, and the blood was gone, but the pain of the dream, that awful manifestation of her memories still lingered. _It's okay Elizabeth. It's over now. It was just a dream._ Beurling placed her clammy hands to her face, feeling the cold sweat on her brow in an attempt to calm down. It seemed to do the trick and she let her hands drop to her side and took off the light sheet. The Canadian grimaced with disgust upon seeing a large section of the mattress and where her head rested on the pillow absolutely soaked with sweat. _Which means my shirt and panties are fucked as well. Need to change._ As she slid out of bed, walking over to the dresser to find some clean dry clothes, Elizabeth thanked her lucky stars that Marseilles allowed them to stay at the abandoned hotel in Benghazi. _She really didn't want to and I can't blame her. That incident at that beach inn wasn't fun._ She opened the top drawer and started peeling off her garments.

Looking outside the nearby window, the stars were twinkling in the night sky. _Really don't see much of those anymore. How long has it been?_ Combing through her memories, Beurling tried to remember. For two full weeks, Montgomery pressed up on through Derna, driving the enemy before him. Some stayed behind and dug themselves in, requiring the use of heavy artillery bombardment and flamethrowers. _It would've been a lot easier if Aaron were around, but he got sent on that humanitarian mission._ Thankfully, Rommel's push through the desert paid off, taking Benghazi on the fourth, and sent a sizable contingent to start sandwiching the enemy and relieving the pressure on Monty's side. Five days later when the last enemy soldier was killed and the last Neuroi put down, the 31st was given a well deserved rest in the recently liberated city while the rest of Rommel's forces started to push onwards toward El Agheila. _And from there, it will be around four hundred miles or so from the Tunisian border and after that Tunis. Still, there's a long long way to go before ending this war by the end of July like they're predicting._ Aaron had come back on the tenth along with Murphy and things began to look up for everyone. That changed three days ago when people all up and down the lines started having trouble sleeping. It started near the front first and hit the troops hard, so much in fact that the offensive ground to a halt. Reports of suicides and people simply not waking up in the morning circulated for a tie before it got suppressed. The malaise of insomnia spread like a plague and it found them and struck with all it's might.

 _And where the fuck it came from is still a mystery._ Elizabeth pulled up her panties and made a move to get back in the bed when she simply shrugged and walked towards the door. _It's no use. Can't really sleep on a soggy mattress._ She placed her right hand on the door handle and pushed. The hinges creaked as the portal opened into the hallway, one should be dark, but was strangely lit with a faint orange glow leading to the main parlor. Puzzled, Beurling walked down the hallway, craning her neck to see what the commotion was about. _Who else is up at this hour?_ She peered down at her watch and groaned when she saw that it was 0230. _Which means that it's only been three hours since I laid my head down._ Closer and closer the Canadian came to the corner and every step made the light brighten from a light orange to a vibrant yellow. She got to the corner and carefully took a gander. Scattered about with no rhyme or reason to it whatsoever, was the rest of the squadron, sitting on couches, chairs, lying on tables, or simply leaning against the wall. Bottles of booze were opened and nearly halfway gone and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Looking at their faces, Elizabeth could see that they looked the same as hers, dark circles under slightly bloodshot eyes, the taut faces, and the blank tired stares. The first one to notice her was Raisa who remarked, “Guess you're awake too Beurling.”

“Might as well join the all nighter.” Rudel muttered, patting an empty stool beside her. “It's pretty much been the case for all of us since it started happening.” The witch moved away from the corner and walked into the parlor proper, making a beeline for a near empty bottle of alcohol.

“So how long have you all been up?” Elizabeth asked the room as she screwed off the cap and started to drink right from the source.

“0030 for us.” Edmund answered, Wilma wearily leaning on his right shoulder.

“I got here around 0045.” Helga quipped, brushing her disheveled blond hair away from her eyes. She gestured over to Audie who was in the process of lighting another cigarette and added, “Same with him too.”

“0100.” Amelie and Juliette responded together. “Rudel was mere minutes after us.”

“And we got here just before you did.” Marseilles grumbled, taking a long drag from her water pipe and passing the wand over to Pottgen. “This is such fucking bullshit. Sleeping pills, this cheap swill, my pipe, nothing is working.” Suddenly, something snapped inside her and she shouted at the top of her lungs, “What the fuck is going on here?!”

The outburst caused Beurling to lose her grip on the bottle and it fell to the floor. It didn't break and bounced around the hardwood, rolling under a nearby table, spilling what remained of the alcohol everywhere. Not wanting to waste what could still be inside, she got on her hands and knees and retrieved it. A thought went through her head and she inquired, “Where's Aaron?” The question hung in the air like the hazy tobacco smoke as it was silently passed around with puzzled stares.

The lieutenant furrowed her brow as she thought about it. _Come to think of it, he hasn't been up as far as I know. Now why would that be? Is he unaffected? Or maybe... what's going on is..._ With no word of explanation, Hanna about faced and briskly walked towards a corridor. The pilot officer immediately put down the water pipe wand and got up out of her chair. “Stay put people.” she advised. _What's gotten into her?_ Raisa had to jog to reach the beginning part of the hallway that Marseilles had gone down, but even so, by the time she got there, her friend was already in their room and she could hear her rummaging around. Pottgen grew very nervous as she continued to proceed down the hallway. _What in the world is she looking for at this time of night?_ Closer and closer she came, but before she could within five feet of the open door, Hanna emerged and Raisa stopped dead in her tracks with fear when she saw the familiar yellow Beretta clutched firmly in her right hand, a look of pure violent intent etched on her face.

Marseilles slowly turned her head and regarded the pilot officer with a cold stare. “Don't you dare interfere.” she warned. “Me and the lieutenant are going to have a little chat.”

Pottgen could scarcely breath and started trembling. Her feet were rooted to the spot and all the moisture in her mouth vanished like a drop of water falling on a sand dune. One hard swallow later, she mustered the courage to croak out in a low voice, “Hanna what are you going to do with that gun? Put it down Hanna.”

“No.” Marseilles bluntly answered. “I'm sick and tired of having practically no sleep while that bastard dreams in peace. I'm dead convinced now that he's responsible for this. I just know it.”

“Are you crazy?” Raisa hissed, her body starting to shake off the shock. “There's no way! He has no reason to do that!”

“To you perhaps but not to me.” Hanna retorted, walking towards the opposite wall to where Aaron's room was. “Think about it real hard Rai. He and the staff sergeant get back from digging ditches and directing traffic and shortly after they do, this shit storm starts. Coincidence? I think fucking not. I'm getting to the bottom of this mystery tonight and you're not stopping me.” She then pointed the pistol at Pottgen and placed her free hand on Divale's room door. “Stay right where you are.”

The German witch put her hands off to her side and tried to calm down. _This isn't happening! This can't be happening!_ “Hanna please calm down.” she begged. “This isn't like you. This is all the sleep deprivation talking. Breath okay? Just breath, calm down, and come with me back to the parlor. There could be something that Deveraux could-”

“Shut up.” Hanna ordered. Keeping a close eye on her friend, she slowly turned the knob until the bolt went past the latch. With the smallest amount of pressure she could muster, the lieutenant pushed the door open just enough to allow her to get through the opening. A lone ray of light, one malformed due to her shadow, fell upon the bed and the reposing warlock, his body facing way from her and wholly covered. Her temper flared up again as she aimed her pistol squarely at his back and heel toed it into his room, watching him all the while, knowing how much of a light sleeper he was. Once she passed the threshold, Marseilles pushed the door closed, twisting the knob all the way as she did so. _Must make this as quiet as possible._ Her night vision adjusted quickly and she crept up to the very edge of the bed. Keeping her breath steady, the witch transferred the Beretta to her left hand and flexed the fingers on her right, getting them ready. A few moments later, she pounced, slamming her right arm over the side of Aaron and wrenched him towards her. The pistol shot forwards, the barrel jammed into his face and Hanna started to cock the hammer but soon realized something odd. _He's normally warm isn't he? Why is he so cold? And why does he feel soft?_ Hanna's eyes widened in horror as she removed the sheet and saw nothing but a long line of pillows.

The gentle tock of something being set down on a table directly behind her caused her to whip her body around. Through her gun sights, the glowing eyes of Aaron looked directly at her from an ornate high backed chair, his gaze level and deadly serious like that of an ancient king regarding the fate of some prisoner. He was half naked, the buckle to his belt dimly shining in the dark from the ambient light from his eyes. His left hand was wrapped around an empty wine glass, a bottle of the stuff resting nearby. “Awfully strange time to be creeping around while people are sleeping don't you think?” he stated, gently rapping his finger tips against the glass. “Especially with a loaded gun.”

Hanna quickly got over her fright and cocked the hammer back. “I have some questions for you.” she stated firmly. “Questions that I need answered now.”

“Likewise.” Aaron replied calmly, crossing his legs. “And I seem to remember me asking them first. Why are you in my room and pointing a gun at my head?”

“I don't have to answer shit.” Marseilles retorted. “I outrank you.”

“Fuck your rank and fuck you.” Divale shot back. “If this is the way you want to play this game, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” He uncrossed his legs and placed his hands on the arms of the chair, getting ready to get up.

“You stay right there lieutenant.” the witch warned, taking a step further into the room and away from him.

The warlock didn't listen, instead rising to his full height and glaring at her without malice. “Or you'll shoot me I take it?” he inquired. “Those 9mm bullets won't even bruise my flesh at this range.”

“Don't you even dare-” Hanna began through gritted teeth, but Aaron took a measured step towards her. The shock of him disobeying her caused her to become afraid once again. _Fuck! What do I do?! I can't hurt him!_ In desperation, the lieutenant did the only thing she could feasibly do. With a jerk of the wrist, she fired one shot to his left. The bottle of wine shattered, spraying the alcohol all over the walls. It caused the warlock to stop advancing and she used that moment of hesitation to place the Beretta firmly against her temple.

“Hanna!” Raisa's voice screamed from beyond the door followed by heavy footsteps as she ran.

Aaron couldn't believe what he was seeing and he slowly raised his hands, silently urging calm. “Settle down there Lieutenant Marseilles. This is getting a little out of hand.” he stated. Suddenly, his room door burst open and Pottgen stood at the threshold, tears in her eyes. Her friend positioned herself so that she could keep both in sight at all times. His hearing picked up more frantic activity down the way. _No doubt the rest of the squadron heard that shot._

“Hanna please stop this!” the pilot officer begged, her hands shaking. “This isn't funny anymore! Put the gun down!”

“Not until he answers my questions!” Marseilles screamed, her finger gripping the trigger.

“Alright! Alright!” Divale blurted out. “I'll answer whatever you want, just cool it. Rai is right, this isn't funny.”

“Why are you doing this to us?” Hanna demanded.

The warlock blinked in visible confusion as the rest of the squadron members started to crowd around the doorway, their faces matching his. “What the fuck are you going on about? What are you saying I'm doing? I don't under-” His words were abruptly cut short by a single pistol shot. Marseilles didn't like what she was hearing and tilted her head forwards and moved the gun upwards in an instant and pulled the trigger. The bullet came so close to her skull that Aaron thought he saw a lock of her blond hair come off before embedding itself in the ceiling, sending tile dust down like snow. Everyone yelled in shock and backed away and Pottgen was now full on crying, dropping to her knees at the foot of the doorway.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Hanna kept repeating, tears falling down her face too. “Don't lie to me you bastard! I know you're doing this! I just know it!”

“I'm not doing anything you dumb bitch!” Divale bellowed.

“Then if it's not you, who is it?!” the German witch countered.

Aaron knew that she wasn't going to accept no for an answer. _But I haven't done anything wrong here. How can I convince her to... Oh, I see... I really don't have a choice anymore._ He took a deep breath and sighed it out before looking squarely at Hanna. “There is someone I know who can figure this out for us all.” he replied with unearthly calm.

Hanna furrowed her brow and cocked her eyebrows. “Who is this person?” she asked.

“This person is someone that I've known for a long time.” Divale responded. “All my deepest questions I reserve for her.”

“Her huh?” Marseilles queried. “Where is she now?”

“Not far.” the warlock answered. “In fact, she's already in the hotel.”

******************

The door to the ballroom closed behind them as the last members of the squadron filed in. Some of them were shuttering the windows and drawing the long thick curtains over them while others were hastily gathering chairs for them to sit on. Aaron was already at the center dance floor, overseeing the whole operation without a single word. Lieutenant Marseilles was standing right next to him, eyeing him with suspicion, but thankfully without a gun to her head. Beside her was Raisa who had since recovered from the earlier events, but was still a tad shaken up. Hanna looked down at her watch and mentioned ominously, “We've been here for the past five minutes and I've yet to see this person you talked about lieutenant.”

“This has to be done first before I let you see her.” Aaron explained.

“But why the secrecy?” Pottgen asked, equally frustrated as her friend.

“Because no one else would understand.” Divale concluded firmly as he saw that his friends had just put the finishing touches on everything. “Excellent. We can now begin. Everyone take your seats.” he offered. They did as they were told, but Hanna and Raisa refused to budge. “Please go with them. For you safety.” he suggested. His superior grumbled as she trudged off and he shook his head. _Stubborn as fuck._ Once he saw her sit down, he looked up at the high ceiling and intoned, “Ignis fatuus.” The false fire manifested near the chandeliers, the green light from the mandala casting eerie shadows as they played over the crystals. “I regret that we had to come here of all places and have you shield it from prying eyes, but believe me when I say this people: What I'm about to show you cannot leave this room. If this became public knowledge, things are going to get really really bad for all of us.”

“I fail to see why that would be.” Marseilles replied, tapping her right foot repeatedly on the floor. “This is just a woman you're showing us.”

“Not just any woman.” Divale cryptically replied, taking a few steps backwards. He then sat down on the floor, sitting crosslegged like an Indian. “Whatever you see, please do not go through the seal.” he instructed. Divale closed his eyes and breathed deep, his breaths soon becoming clearly visible as if he'd stepped into a cold winter's day. The room began to grow cold and ice crystals formed on his skin, a thick layer of frost. Soon a white mandala ring inscribed with red runes revealed itself, circling around the floor wildly and encompassing everything up to a few feet away from the seated squadron proper. Aaron’s veins started to glow blue green and he was lifted up from the thick wood floor by an unseen force, raised by the chest, leaving his arms limp at his sides like a soul being taken to heaven. His mouth opened, and out from the maw came a black gem, tinkling to the floor and rolling away until coming to a rest four feet to Aaron's side. Suddenly, it exploded, covering the immediate area with midnight. Seated far away, the lieutenant looked on in uneasy wonder. _What is he doing? What is this?_

That was when something appeared from the gloom, a long bed of black stone embossed with blood red rubies that formed tear drops falling into the mouths of hungry fires, the posts that of gigantic jagged teeth with human heads impaled through them. Across the bed were sheets of silver that billowed with an unseen wind like liquid mercury. A shape stirred, the strange scents filling the air, and soon a passionate moaning could be heard, reverberating around the ballroom. “Mmmm yes.” the voice murmured in ecstasy. “Right there. Go harder Aaron. Faster Aaron. That's the ticket. You're getting so better with age it's mildly terrifying.” As this went on and on, Divale gently descended to the floor, the frost disappearing from his form when his feet touched the wood. Upon earth fall, he clapped his right hand over his eyes and shook his head in embarrassment. He sighed and gave the side of the bed a hard kick that chipped the rock, shards of ebon black falling to the ground. It startled whoever was reposing and it shot up from their disturbed slumber. What Hanna then saw was something out of a nightmare. Glaring with blurry eyes that matched the darkest of shadows was the figure of a woman, her bare somewhat saturated yellow skin marred with amethyst purple tattoos. She was naked, the bosom prominent with erect nipples. Short venom green hair was picture perfect. It took everything in her power to not scream in terror as whatever it was looked at Aaron's exposed torso with rapt anticipation and lust. “Well now. I guess even a bad girl's dreams can come true.” Leaning forward she crooked her right finger, her long nail like a dagger as she beckoned him to join her in bed. “Come on in my dear sweet warlock. Let's make such wonderful dreams together.”

Divale viciously slapped her hand away from him like it was a venomous snake and replied, “Thanks, but no thanks Ismenoth. There are some things that you need to discuss with my friends.” He gestured with his eyes towards the squadron and the demoness craned her neck around.

Upon beholding them, the fiend frowned. “You really have to get over this I don't like being watched phase Aaron. It's truly disappointing.”

“Not my problem.” the warlock retorted. “Now get your ass out of bed and talk to them.”

Ismenoth crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “And why would I do that?” she asked defiantly. “I don't owe them anything and neither do you in the grand scheme of things.”

Upon hearing that, Aaron gave the bed another kick, this one much much harder and the slab flipped upwards into the air, sending the noncompliant demoness out of her place of repose. She fell hard on the floor and rolled away from the ruined bed, a thin silver sheet being all that separated her from total nudity. “Because I fucking said so bitch. No get gone or I'll make you.” he ordered.

Ismenoth glared at him angrily as she pulled the rest of the sheet towards her with a grunt. “You're such a slave driver.” she uttered as she tied it around her frame like toga. “Clearly you retained something of what I taught you.” Once she knotted it in place, the fiend turned on her bare feet and slowly walked away from Aaron and towards the rest of the assembled group. Marseilles swallowed deep and watched the creature advance, looking like an evil Roman empress and cold sweat started to drip down the back of her neck. Raisa gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, but it did little to change the situation. Memories of what she saw at Alexandria swept through her mind. _That must have been the voice that I heard when he spoke. This Ismenoth must be the source for all his power._ “It looks like we finally meet at long last.” the demoness commented as she stopped within a foot of the seal's barrier. With a wave of her hand, a chair of black steel appeared, the steps leading up to it human spines stitched into what looked like fleshly pink skin. The high back was that of a massive rib cage, the bones splayed out like a peacock's feathers. The arms were the arms of a dragon, the scales glowing with an unnatural luster with the light of the mandala, highlighting every detail from the shapes to the bulging veins. She sat down on the seat cushion, one that looked like a wet tongue and sighed with pleasure. “Just as wonderful as the first time I sat here.” she muttered to herself. Crossing her legs, she placed her right hand under her chin and the left she allowed to rest on the appropriate chair arm. “So my lovely dears, what should we talk about?” she asked with a devilish grin.

Knowing it was her time, the lieutenant stood up from her chair and looked at the demoness. It looked like for a moment that she was going to ask something direct and to the point, but instead all that came out was, “What are you?”

“The more apt question would be what I am not.” Ismenoth replied with a slight chuckle upon hearing so simple of a question. “I've been many things over the course of my life, but right now I'm am simply Ismenoth. As you can plainly tell, I have a very close relationship with Aaron.” She then cocked her head slightly and the smile disappeared entirely, replaced with bared teeth. “In addition to being his partner, I'm also his protector and I don't appreciate what you've been putting my darling through. You should watch yourself cunt. People who try to hurt him don't live very long.” she threatened.

“She can't hurt you.” Aaron interrupted, hastily strolling on over.

“Bear in mind he omitted unless I allow it from that statement.” Ismenoth observed, rolling her eyes.

“That should go without saying.” the warlock retorted, coming to a halt to her right side. Regarding Marseilles, he proclaimed, “She's entirely harmless. Go right ahead.”

I'm Lieutenant Hanna Justina-Marseilles of the 31st JFS Afrika and I demand to know what's going on here.” Hanna demanded.

The fiend squinted her black orbs and peered deep into Marseilles tired blue eyes. “Well now,” she began,”I honestly didn't think that a star could have black circles. Are we having trouble getting our beauty sleep?”

“I see where you got your sass from.” the witch grumbled as she cast Aaron a hard look.

“What you call backtalk, I merely call pointing out details.” Ismenoth countered. “To answer, I can safely say that I know, yet I don't know.”

Hanna blinked in bewilderment and then got really angry. “What the hell do you mean by that!” she yelled, bolting up from her chair so fast that it flew backwards and fell to the floor with a crash.

“Like I just said,” the demoness explained calmly, stroking her chin, “I know some aspects of the issue and some I'm in the dark about.”

“So what do you know?” Marseilles growled.

Ismenoth adjusted her position in her chair, her back up against the left arm and her legs looped over the right, her feet swinging back and forth like dual pendulums. “This is not natural.” she illuminated. “What has happened over the last few days is due to some very powerful magic, something which is beyond my present understanding. It's similar to the alteration magics that Aaron can use, but the scale and potency is on a whole another level.”

“And you don't know for sure?” Marseilles queried, calming down. “Is there any way that you can find out?”

“Perhaps.” Isemnoth answered. She then looked at everyone seated before her and inquired, “Who was the last one of you to wake up?” Elizabeth sat there frozen to the seat cushion and closed her eyes. _Why is she asking that question? What is she going to do to me?_ “So it's you.” the demoness observed, causing Beurling to open her eyes.

“Yes.” the wary witch replied. “I was the last one to wake up.”

“I could tell little girl.” the fiend cooed softly. “You still have that grogginess about you. Come here to the edge.”

Elizabeth was about to get up when Divale suddenly grabbed Ismenoth by the throat yet applied no force around her neck. “What's your game bitch?” he asked curtly, his fingers itching to apply pressure. “You're plotting something. I can smell it.”

“I'm doing nothing of the sort Aaron.” Ismenoth retorted politely. “I'm merely trying to get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“If that's the case, what does she have to do with it?” Marseilles quipped. “And why does it matter that she woke up last?”

“All magic leaves behind a residual amount of its essence when it's used. Since the rest of you have been awake for quite some time, this quantity is insufficient for me to determine what it is. Since she isn't fully awake, this has yet to fully leave her body. I need to extract it from her.” the demoness explained.

By this point, Beurling rose from her seat and gingerly ventured as close to the mandala's edge as she dared. Standing before the warlock and the fiend, she inquired, “How are you going to do that?”

“With these.” Ismenoth declared, rolling her tongue over her lips. She unexpectedly gagged as Aaron severely tightened his grip around her neck.

“Absolutely not.” he stated. “I don't trust you.”

“Neither do I Lieutenant Divale,” Marseilles agreed, “but that's not your choice to make.”

The warlock looked at his superior incredulously and uttered, “You can't be fucking serious.”

“I'm in command here!” Hanna shot back.

“This woman is not to be trusted! All she cares about is getting the advantage over you! I'm not going to have you sacrifice one of our own over some process that we can't be sure is even going to work or even take place!” Aaron screamed.

“It...will...work.” Ismenoth gargled out.

“You shut up!” Divale roared back, squeezing even harder now to the point where the demoness' skin was turning a shade of brown.

“Stop it!” Elizabeth shrieked. That caused everyone to look at her. “Aaron, we have to do something. This lack of sleep is killing us. It made the lieutenant go nuts and almost kill herself. If this goes on any longer, we'll be at each others throats, maybe even kill each other. I don't want that to happen and neither do you. Let us try this. It's better than nothing.” she pleaded.

As the warlock listened to his friend's words, he looked over all the squadron. _If nothing's done soon, they'll all crack._ He reluctantly let go of Ismenoth's neck and stepped away from the chair. “Get it over with.” he muttered under his breath. “But make no mistake you bitch. If I get a hint of any funny business going on, I'll rip your head off your fucking shoulders.”

The demoness rubbed her surely bruised neck and glared at him for a moment before turning her attention back to Beurling. “You can come past the seal. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.” she instructed.

Elizabeth was about to go forwards when she felt someone grabbing her left hand. Turning to look, she saw the worried face of Rudel. Knowing what it was all about, the witch smiled down at her friend and nodded. “I'll be okay.” she assured. Hanna let her fingers slip away from the palm and Beurling stepped over and through the mandala ring. She felt the energy of the spell course through her, a mixture of cold and warmth that froze and burned, but never to the point of causing discomfort.

Ismenoth got out of the chair and beckoned her to sit down. “It may look disconcerting, but that is the softest cushion you'll ever feel.” she stated. Beurling did as she was told, doing her best not to vomit at the glistening tongue that she could swear was twitching out of the corner of her eye. Taking a deep breath, she sat down. The moment her bottom made contact, the cushion seemed to form around her, cradling all of her buttocks, legs, and her private areas. It was also warm, one that was pleasing yet unnerving. As her body adjusted, the demonness knelt down in front of her, her head still above hers. “Now, if my theory is correct, it should still be at or near your skull. I need to touch you. My hands can pick up the latent energy.” she explained. Elizabeth cast a frantic gaze at the fiend's hands, the long fingernails looking like daggers.

“Is this going to hurt?” Beurling asked in a low voice, her lips trembling.

“I'll be gentle.” Ismenoth replied. “Let us begin. Try to relax.” The witch took several deep breaths as her head was taken into the demonness' large taloned hands. Using the very tips of her fingers, the fiend ran them around the temples in small circles before moving further up and behind the skull. Every touch and graze sent chills up and down Elizabeth's spine, the sensation making her gasp in a mixture of revulsion and pleasure. Her mind swam, the scent of the creature causing her to lose herself for a moment before getting set right back in place. “You have such beautiful hair.” Ismenoth mentioned as she weaved her hands through Beurling's bangs and moved down the front of her face. “Very odd sight for a smoker. Usually it reeks of smoke and has dead ends, but this is well taken care of. My compliments.”

“T-T-Thank you.” the witch stammered, gripping the arms of the chair tightly as Ismenoth's hand now circled around her entire neck. They stopped abruptly and the demoness carefully rubbed a space just behind her right ear.

“There you are you little bastard.” Ismenoth declared with triumph. She then used one finger to trace a path that went over the ear, across the temple, and followed along the jawline before pausing just underneath Elizabeth's bottom lip. Her face moved closer and Beurling's eyes widened.

“I-I thought you w-were going to k-kiss there.” she stuttered.

“It has to be like this my dear.” Ismenoth replied, her lips not even an inch away. “I can't exactly get it out through the side of your head without hurting you.” She then placed both her hands over the witch's wrists, locking her arms in place. “Clear your mind Elizabeth. This will not take long, and after this, you can go back.” she whispered. Beurling barely had enough time to do so before the demonness and her were joined at the lips. If it wasn't for being in such close proximity to her face, the witch would've sworn that nothing was happening. _This kiss is so light. It's like touching the air._ That was when another sensation made it's appearance, that of a warm long tongue passing by the lips and teeth, exploring her mouth like an overly cautious gold prospector. Elizabeth trembled, her breathing increasing rapidly as her mouth and tongue were touched in such a way. Then, as soon as it began, the organ retracted and Ismenoth rose from the floor, letting go of her arms. She stepped off to the side and as soon as there was enough room, Beurling bolted out of the chair, running the few feet into Rudel's outstretched arms, tears falling down her face.

“It's alright now old friend.” the German witch assured as she took her in. “It's over.”

Wilma came over and took out a handkerchief. “You're fine Elizabeth. Dry your eyes.” she offered.

Marseilles watched the reunion as Beurling took the rag and started to wipe away her tears, whimpering. _I'm sorry, but we need a solution and we need one now._ She then looked at Aaron and Ismenoth, the warlock gazing venomously at both of them while the fiend paced around the chair, running her tongue along the inside of her mouth like she was a sommelier sampling a rare vintage. She then halted and her head twirled hard towards the seated squadron, but looked up, as if she saw something in the ceiling that caught her interest. The demonness stood there for a good ten seconds before opening her mouth and proclaiming in a reverent tone, “Now this is very very interesting. Neuromancy.”

Aaron furrowed his brow and grew uneasy. _I haven't heard of that before._ “Neuromancy? What are you talking about?” he asked her. When no answer came, he looked at Marseilles and inquired, “Do you have any idea what neuromancy is?”

Hanna shrugged, but Raisa responded, “It is the rarest power that a witch can ever have. I believe the odds are somewhere in the region of the hundreds of millions to one. It allows the witch to enter and influence another person's dreams.”

“Even to the point of causing nightmares and sleep deprivation?” Divale queried.

“With proper training, things like that are possible.” Pottgen replied.

“Finally, we have a serious breakthrough.” Marseilles determined. “Can Ismenoth trace where it's coming from?”

“Unfortunately I cannot.” the fiend replied. “There was too little left to get an accurate fix, but the origin does appear to be around fifteen miles of Sirte.”

“Which is currently crawling with enemy soldiers and four hundred miles away into the bargain.” the warlock grumbled.

“We have to launch some sort of mission in that general vicinity and fast.” Rudel stated emphatically. “This witch needs to be found and killed.”

“Such a thing would be pointless without a definitive location.” Wilma countered. “We'd be going around in circles. Plus, we don't even know what the bloody hell she looks like.”

“I might be able to help with that.” Ismenoth pointed out. “Before it left me, I caught a glimpse of a face.”

“What did she look like?” Marseilles asked.

“She's certainly Japanese with brown hair and eyes, wearing a black scarf, white top, and a dark red skirt. There was also a strap around her neck over that scarf now that I remember. It's too thick for a weapon so I'm guessing it's-” Isemnoth started to answer, but was interrupted by Raisa who gasped loudly.

“A camera strap.” the pilot officer murmured. “That would mean it's Captain Katou Keiko!”

“That's impossible!” Marseilles shouted. “Keiko doesn't have that power at all! This must be a mistake!”

“Not necessarily.” Aurora chimed. “There have been theories circulating for decades that neuromancy is possibly a dormant magic that only manifests in the presence of intense trauma.”

“Going by that logic, the process of being implanted with one of those cores might be enough to do that.” Juliette deduced.

“None of this helps at all though.” Amelie gloomily complained. “She's so far away and we're too weak to fight her.”

“Wrong.” Ismenoth flatly stated. “There is a way that we can put an end to this and kill the bitch too, however to do that, one of you needs to go to sleep and I will go with them. Together, I can lock her down so she can't escape and the other will fight her.”

“If it's anything like what I was put through during my training in captivity, that's borderline suicidal.” Divale observed, shaking his head. “Any damage your dream self sustains manifests on your physical self. Take too much punishment, you will die.”

“Why is that?” Marseilles asked.

“Your mind essentially makes it real. I can't really explain it, but trust me, I've seen it happen.” Aaron replied.

“Then I guess there's no way around it.” Hanna observed. She then stood up and pointed at Ismenoth who regarded her with a small degree of bemusement. “I volunteer to go into the dream world. Train me on how to defeat her.” she stated.

With cocked eyebrow, Ismenoth walked over and stood at the threshold of the seal. “You want to volunteer?” she inquired. When the German witch nodded, the demonness exploded into peals of laughter. “You?!” she managed to gasp while holding her sides. “You're joking!”

Insulted by her words, Marseilles became enraged and her face turned several shades of purple. “I'm not joking! I'm clearly the most qualified to do this! Now I command-” she started to yell, but the fiend slammed herself against the mandala barrier hard, her frame causing a sound akin to a large bird hitting a glass window.

“You don't command me.” Ismenoth growled. “Besides, out of all of you, you are the most unqualified candidate here.”

“How can you say that?! You know nothing about me!” Hanna raged back.

“Watch yourself kraut,” the demonness warned with a smile, “or else this mother is going to play doctor on daddy's little girl more than the court did.” Those words utterly drained the ire within the lieutenant, her face started to pale, and she backed away from her, body trembling like a leaf in the wind. “What's wrong?” Ismenoth slyly asked, presenting the underside of her left arm and drawing her right hand up it, finger nails tugging the sallow skin. “Did that cut too deep for you?” Repressed memories burst through the locked doors in Marseilles mind. The funeral. Her mother disappearing from her life with her lover after the will was read. The photographs of her father's body in the tub, bloody water all over the place. Her legs began to give out, but just at that moment, Raisa sprang into action, grabbing her and preventing her fall. “And now we have the pint sized pocket protector.” Ismenoth remarked. “And just about as useless too. How's it feel to live with your failures day in and day out?”

“Fuck you!” Pottgen cried out.

“Tempting, but I'm little busy right now.” the fiend replied. She then looked over the rest of the squadron as the pilot officer carried her friend back to her chair, setting her down gently and consoling her, her black eyes appearing to search for something. “You're all brave soldiers, but I've looked into each and everyone of your minds, your hearts, your very souls. I know each and every one of you better than you know yourself. All of you have regrets, doubts, and fears and all those things will be used against you by the witch in the dream world. However, there is one among you that I can help remove those weaknesses and turn them into strengths.” Ismenoth proclaimed. Then her orbs rested on Beurling, flanked by Rudel and Wilma, and they seemed to glitter in the low light. “And she's right there.”

“No!” Elizabeth called out, burying her head in Rudel's chest. “No! No! No!”

“Leave her alone damn you!” Rudel snapped, holding her friend tight.

“You've done enough to her you bitch!” Wilma added.

“All I've done I did with only the best of intentions.” Ismenoth retorted. “You wanted to know what was going on and I solved that question. To solve the present issue, she needs to come with me to do this.”

“I'm not going with you!” Beurling shouted defiantly. “Not in a million years!”

“I can wait.” the demonness countered. She then turned her back on them all and sadly commented. “A true pity really, but if this is what you want then I guess I can do nothing more. Things are going to go the way they have been and everyone around you is slowly going to be driven insane. It's only a matter of time before someone else, maybe even you, will put a gun to your head, except this time no one is going to stop you from painting your blood and brains all over the walls.” Looking over at Aaron, the fiend continued, “And he will see all of it. You have any idea how many of his friends he's buried over the years Elizabeth? How many hours spent digging graves, building coffins, and making crosses for the fallen? You really want to put him through that again?”

Elizabeth gazed at Aaron who looked back at her, his glowing bronze eyes telling her not to go, to not get guilt tripped into doing something that she didn't want to do. She thought about what Ismenoth just said and couldn't help feeling pity for him. _I don't even want to imagine who he'd feel, how all of them would feel if someone died because of me._ Holding back her tears, she got up from the chair, ignoring the silent protests from Hanna and Wilma. “No I don't.” she answered. Ismenoth turned around, her face expressionless, and bade her to come to her side. With measured steps, Beurling walked past the seal.

“Best of intentions.” Divale mocked. “You're so full of shit I'm surprised that you haven't gotten a tan.”

Ignoring him, the demonness looked down at the witch who stood an arms length away from her right side. “Sit in the chair again and we'll soon get this started.” she instructed.

The pair started to walk together, but Rudel bolted out of her chair and said, “Wait a second! What about Aaron? He surely can do the job right?”

“If you have been actually looking around you instead of down your gun sights, you'll notice that high ranking enemy witches have been avoiding combat with him. Some have even gone so far as to retreat entirely from the field or focusing on all of you. Seems like someone is actively telling them to not fight him. This witch that's doing this is most certainly not low ranked and she'll react the same way. If that happens, she'll simply wake up and knock him out of the dream world and this goes on and on.” the demonness answered without looking at her. She waved her hand and the chair moved back a few more inches and the steps rose upwards, creating a small ottoman. Beurling sat back down in the chair and Ismenoth sat on the spine ottoman.

“Before you do whatever it is you're going to do,” Marseilles spoke up, recovered from the scathing remarks from earlier, “one last question. How is it that Aaron can get sleep and we can't?”

Regarding her fully, Ismenoth replied, “As I said earlier, I'm his protector. My magic blocks any attempts to invade his mind.”

“Could it be possible for you to extend that protection to us?” the witch asked, her tone making it clear that she desperately wanted the answer to be in the affirmative.

“What are you willing to offer?” the demonness inquired.

Before any answer could be given, Aaron unfurled his left wing and thrust it at Ismenoth's head, halting it to within an inch of her skull. “There will be no such bargain.” he emphatically stated. Looking over at Marseilles, he went on, “Like I told you, this bitch can't be trusted. You give her an inch and she'll take a mile off of you. There's always a catch to her deals. Don't do it.”

“You don't seem to complain much when I take your inches for miles.” the fiend countered, lewdly ogling the warlock's crotch.

 _I did not want that image in my head._ Swallowing hard to quell the urge to vomit _,_ Marseilles reluctantly queried, “What would you want?”

Placing a finger to her right cheek, Ismenoth looked up with a thoughtful expression to her face. “Well there is one thing that I would like,” she stated, looking over at Aaron, “but sadly he's quite attached to it.”

“The only sole you're getting you cunt is my boot heel in your ass.” Divale curtly replied.

“Anything else besides that?” Hanna inquired.

At that, Ismenoth got up from the grotesque ottoman and slunk her way to the warlock, her eyes full of lust. Once she got up to him, she turned around and pressed her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck. “This one rudely interrupted a very nice dream I was having. He should take responsibility for that. If you let me sleep with him, I'll grant what you desire.” she offered.

Gasps of horror and disgust echoed from the squadron as Marseilles looked over at Aaron, his face clearly just as repelled. _Shit. I did not expect her to want that. I know I don't like the guy, but even he doesn't deserve to undergo something like that. Can I even order that with a clear conscience?_ “Will you do so if I accept?” she asked him.

“I will.” Divale answered grimly. “Kicking and screaming all the way, but I'll do it.”

“You sure?” Hanna inquired with concern.

The warlock stared at his superior officer with a sympathetic cast to his face. “Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Go get some sleep.” he replied.

The witch placed the knuckles of her right hand against her brow and closed her eyes. _God forgive what I'm about to allow. Give him the power to not hold this against me. I've got enough enemies as it is._ “If you're confident in this, then he's all yours.” she declared with regret.

“Excellent.” Ismenoth cackled, going back to her ottoman. “You won't regret this at all. I suggest you all get back to your rooms and catch some zees.”

“I'll stay here just in case.” Aaron stated, looking at the concerned faces of Rudel and Wilma, trying to calm them down. It seemed to work and slowly the squadron started to funnel out the door. Marseilles was the last one to leave, but before she stepped past the threshold, she turned around and looked at Divale one last time. He stared right back at her and nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Hanna inwardly sighed and returned the sign with a slight smile and nod. She then turned and walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.

Beurling watched them all go and breathed deep, steeling herself for what was about to happen. _So I go to sleep and get trained. How long is that going to take? Am I going to be strong enough to do it?_ “I can tell you're afraid Elizabeth.” Ismenoth stated. “Don't be. If you go into the real battle scared, you'll only wind up dead.” She then took the witch by the hands and instructed, “Close your eyes and count down starting from ten.”

Elizabeth did so and began. “Ten, nine, eight.” At the end of the word eight she felt an intense feeling of drowsiness sweep over her and her words started to come out much slower. “Seven....si-” She couldn't finish the last part before sleep took her.

******************

A pair of eyes fluttered open and the world is fuzzy. Ears pick up the sound of chirping birds and skin feels a gentle breeze. More audible signals were added. Here the creaking of wood and there the scraping of leaves as they weaved among branches or skipped along the ground. Vision eventually clears up, revealing to Elizabeth that she was on a patch of earth somewhere on the outermost fringes of some pine woods with some oaks mixed in. She got up and looked every which way to get her bearings. _Call me crazy, but I feel that I've been here before._ Seeing that there was a small clear area up ahead, Beurling walked towards it, dusting off her white t shirt. Above her, the sun was shining brightly in the partly cloudy skies. It wasn't too hot or cold. Her bare feet stepped on a thick bed of old pine needles. _Considering how I can't feel the ground underneath, this must have been here for a long while. Least two maybe three winters._ She soon came to the clearing, the scenery oddly angled. _So I'm on a hill then._ Her eyes widened when she saw an airbase at the bottom of a small valley, probably no more than a few hundred feet away. Four runways, two running parallel and the others crisscrossing in an ex, led to four large hangers, windsocks barely moving in the breeze. Between them, flying high and proudly on a tall flagpole was the Canadian flag, the red and white clearly visible even from this distance. That was when it hit her. _Now I know where I am!_ “This is Station Dartmouth.” she murmured softly.

“Yes and no.” a familiar woman's voice stated from behind. Whipping around, Elizabeth came face to face with Ismenoth, still clad in the silver sheet, the fabric shining brighter in the sun than the metal itself, contrasting with her yellow skin and venom green hair. “What you are actually looking at is a representation of Station Dartmouth that I've managed to reconstruct from your memories to the best of my ability.” she explained. “Let's go and take a closer look at the place shall we?” Without waiting for a reply, the demonness started walking down the hill towards the base, Beurling following right beside her. The path was free of stray pebbles and the grass felt good between the witch's toes as she strolled.

“So this is all a dream?” Elizabeth asked, gazing in wonder at the nature that surrounded them and the civilization beyond.

“Yes it is. Your dream to be specific.” the fiend answered. “You're sleeping right now in the chair, but I transferred your entire subconscious into my mind. It makes the training much easier.”

“Wow.” Elizabeth muttered, her mind swimming with questions. “It's so real.”

The demonness stopped and regarded the witch with a serious stare. “The first thing you need to understand Elizabeth is that no matter what you feel, what you smell, even what you hear, none of this is real. That is not grass you feel under your feet and the sun isn't up there right now beating down on you.” She leaned in and added, “You're not even breathing that pine scented air right now either.” She then resumed walking and Beurling did too.

“So if this isn't real, then what's keeping this dream together?” Elizabeth queried, still curious.

“That's a very good question.” Ismenoth remarked with a smile, impressed with her. “Your brain is used to understanding reality along certain lines. There are givens in the real world, rules that the mind takes into account such as gravity, feelings of hot and cold, pain, and others like that. That's what binds it all together. You wake up because something comes along that bends or even breaks those rules severely.”

“I seem to remember some dreams where I continued to sleep long past that point.” Beurling recollected.

“Some minds are more adaptable to changing circumstances in the dream world. To their brains, what happened was within acceptable parameters due to altered mental states brought about by some sort of chemical imbalance.” the demonness continued. “In your case, alcohol was the source.” The pair soon came up to the gate, thick chains binding the the chain link doors closed.

Elizabeth waited for Ismenoth to open the gate, but she simply stood there, seemingly waiting for something to happen. “Aren't we supposed to go inside?” she asked.

“Indeed.” the fiend answered, regarding her. “I'm just waiting for you to open the door.”

“Me?!” Beurling gasped. “I can't remove those chains!”

“Yes you can.” the demonness assured. “This is your dream remember? Unlike reality, you can alter your surroundings, change circumstances to what you want them to be. Give it a try.” The witch looked at the chains again and decided to do just that. With confidence, she walked to the gate and laid her hands on the chains. The metal felt cold in her hands as she took a few deep breaths and yanked. The bonds refused to budge and again and again Elizabeth pulled and pulled, straining to break them. She took a quick break, panting from the exertion, her hands sore. “Focus a bit harder Elizabeth.” Ismenoth instructed. “Concentrate. Don't think that you can; know you can. The dream doesn't command you; you command the dream. Try again.”

Beurling gripped the chains and closed her eyes. _Don't think you can; know you can. The dream doesn't command you; you command the dream._ With that mantra in mind, she opened her eyes and screamed, “I'm in control!” Her arm muscles bulged and with a tremendous tug, the chains reached the point where they should've stopped but then gave, the steel links ripping apart like they were made of paper. Elizabeth dropped the broken shackles to the ground and kicked her right leg out at the gate. The doors flung open so hard that they came loose, flying through the air before landing a good three feet away.

Ismenoth walked up to her smiling and clapped slowly four times. “Very good job Elizabeth. With enough practice, you'll soon won't need to summon it up, you'll simply do it without thinking. Let's continue our little journey.” The two walked onto the base grounds proper and they both beheld quite a few people out and about. There were MPs, mechanics, higher ups, and of course the pilots who were going about the daily tasks of running a proper military establishment. As they strolled among them, Beurling recognized quite a few of the faces she looked upon. _They haven't a care in the world. They all think that that the war is going to be some grand adventure. I was just as idealistic and foolish as they were. I wish that we were told the truth then. Maybe so many of us wouldn't have died._ Suddenly, a clap of thunder boomed somewhere overhead and the witch looked up to see the clouds multiply like rabbits and darken all the while. The demonness regarded the change with a simple shrug. “Looks like it's going to rain.” she quipped as the drops started falling.

“Not on me it won't.” Elizabeth replied solemnly. As if her words were the final incantations of a magic spell, the skies cleared above their heads, creating a shaft of calm as the rest of the world was soaked by the downpour. Everyone caught outside rushed to get indoors.

Ismenoth gave the witch a blank stare. “Does it hurt to remember the past that much?” she asked. “Why do you hold on to this regret you feel?”

Beurling looked back at the fiend and answered, “This was a time that I was not proud of. I acted like a child when I should've been an adult. I caused so much trouble for myself and everyone around me and I couldn't care less. People learned really quick to stay out of my way, but I wouldn't let them. I sought out trouble and I found.... her.”

“Her huh? I take it it was the woman?” Ismenoth inquired. “What was her name?”

“Don't know.” Elizabeth responded regretfully. “And then I didn't want to know. In my mind she was a rival of mine and that was enough for me to not care. Though I knew I was better than her, she had a real talent for flying. I was afraid that she could match me one day. That was why I bullied her incessantly. Night, day, didn't matter. If I saw her, she got it every time.”

“All the way up to the point where you couldn't anymore.” the demonness pointed out.

Beurling's lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “I never got the chance to say I was sorry. When she died, something in me died with her. I became depressed and I had thoughts of suicide for a good while. I acted out my grief to the point where Allied Command came within a pen stroke of sending me to the firing squad. Even after I got transferred to the 507 th , I clashed with my CO and refused to change my Strikers to the newer models.” she choked out, doing her best not to cry.

“Tell me Elizabeth,” Ismenoth started to ask, directing her attention to a small group of witches in the distance. “What do you feel when you see that?” Beurling looked and saw the young women pile into the nearby hanger to escape from the rain. When it was down to just two, the second to last suddenly turned around. She gasped when she realized just who it was. _That's me! And that means..._ Without warning, her past self pushed the other witch hard. The girl lost her footing and fell face first into the muddy ground. Even from so far away, the Canadian could hear herself cruelly laughing as the soiled witch attempted to get up, mud streaked across her face. Elizabeth couldn't bear to see those tears again and closed her eyes, sending tears of her own down her face.

“I feel pathetic.” she answered. “I feel so much pain and regret it hurts.”

“And that is where you're wrong again.” the fiend countered. She placed her hands on Beurling's shoulders and started walking towards the hanger, taking her with her. As they did so, the world seemed to mysteriously pause. The rain stopped, the droplets suspended in midair and those that had already struck the ground were caught in mid destruction. The witch looked on in wonder as her past self had her mouth open, but no words came out and the unfortunate victim didn't move an inch. Suddenly, time flowed backwards, the two witches twisting and turning at odd angles as they repositioned themselves back to where the action began.

“What's going on?” Elizabeth asked, confused and a bit scared at the same time. “Are you doing this?”

“Yes I am.” Isemenoth replied, coming to a halt in front of the duo. “Your feelings of worthlessness, foolishness, and regret are indeed there, but there is something else you haven't mentioned and I want you to look again until you find it and tell me.” The memory played out again in front of Beurling's unwilling eyes, the hurt coming back as she bore witness. “What do you feel?”

“I just said how I felt now let go of me.” Elizabeth protested.

“Not until you tell me.” the demonness affirmed, holding her companion securely when she felt her struggling to free herself.

“There's nothing more to tell!” Beurling yelled, kicking and punching backwards as was forced to watch the two figures from her past reset themselves for another round. “Let me go damn it!”

“You know it's on the tip of your tongue Elizabeth! You're so close to finding it! Just a little bit more thought and you're there!” Ismenoth encouraged, clearly unaffected by the hits she was taking.

“Stop it! I don't want to see anymore! Stop it!” the witch cried out, now trying to bite the demonness' fingers.

“You must see!” Ismenoth snapped back, casually moving her digits away from Elizabeth's chomping mouth. “You know there's something else! Now tell me! What do you feel?!”

Elizabeth strained against the power of the fiend, but nothing she did was working. _I've had it with this shit!_ Concentrating hard, she willed her kukri into existence, the blade materializing in her right hand. “Let! Me! Go!” she screamed as she suddenly came loose. Spinning hard on her heels, Beurling lashed out with the knife as hard as she could at Ismenoth. For a brief moment in time, the attack appeared to have caught the demonness off guard, but any hope of it succeeding were dashed when the fiend caught her by the wrist. Ismenoth looked down at the witch, her black eyes alight with wonder and triumph.

“There it is.” she observed as Elizabeth continued to glare at her with hate burning in her blue eyes. “Anger. All those other emotions you described were just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath the surface all along was a roiling bed of anger all stemming from the one person you hold the deepest hate for: yourself. Admit it.”

Slowly, Beurling started to nod and she seethed, “Yes! I have hated myself for doing those things! If I could go back in time and knock some sense in myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat!”

Ismenoth let go of the witch and crossed her arms over her chest. “For the longest time, I tried to teach Aaron that anger is not a liability, but an effective tool. It gives you focus, driving you to accomplish your goals regardless of the odds arrayed against you. In addition, it enhances all your senses, making you faster, more alert, stronger. All these advantages he threw away, but you have seeming gone past a door that he never dared walk on through. You have just demonstrated to me and yourself that with enough concentration, you can use that anger to attack your enemies.” she explained. She snapped her fingers and Elizabeth's past self realigned with the other witch near the hanger. “You said that you'd knock some sense in yourself am I right? Show me.” she demanded.

Elizabeth turned around and saw what was about to happen again. Throwing down the knife, she power walked to the duo, her eyes blazing and her breath coming out in heavy pants as she focused on her past self. “Not this time bitch! Not ever again!” she bellowed. She closed the distance just before her clone whipped around, ready to push once more. However, Beurling was right there, intercepting the attempt. She grabbed the right arm with her left and violently pulled her towards her. The witch looked on with shock as Elizabeth headbutted her in the face, the blow eliciting a painful yell. As the head rocked back, Beurling punched her gut hard with her right hand, driving upwards into the stomach. The witch crumpled into a heap and she got on top of her, pinning her down. Once secured, Elizabeth went to town on her past self, punching, chopping, slapping, jabbing with her fingers, anything and everything to cause as much pain and damage as she could. Blood flew in all directions as she created cuts over the eyes, across the cheeks, opening them further and further. Screams of agony filled the air with her voice, but Beurling was deaf to it as she lashed out again and again, tears streaming down her face. “Damn you! God damn you! Leave her alone! Don't you ever hurt her again! You hear me! Never again! I'll fucking kill you! You hear me cunt?! I'll fucking kill you if you touch her again!” she roared. Soon, her ire ceased and she got off the ruined mess she caused. Turning around, she saw her old rival looking at her rescuer in terror. “It's alright now.” Elizabeth assured. “She's not going to hurt you ever again.” She went up and wrapped her arms around the witch. “I know this isn't you, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I ever did to you. Wherever you are now, forgive me. Forgive me.”

The witch returned the embrace and whispered, “I forgive you.” Those words filled Beurling's heart with joy and she broke the hold she had and smiled, but that smile quickly turned into an expression of horror and revulsion when she saw the face. What was once beautiful was half gone, blown away and exposing bone and brain matter, blood leaking down the side and covering the shoulder with crimson. The lone eye was glazed over and lifeless, the skin pale with death. Elizabeth was rooted to the spot and could do nothing as the dead witch cocked her right arm back and threw a hook at her face. Just as it was about to connect, she stopped. The Canadian used the hesitation to escape, rolling off to the left and springing back up to her feet.

“You did very well in the first half.” Ismenoth commented. “Much better than I had anticipated. However, it all fell to shit afterwards. You want to know why? You let that anger go. You lost your advantage. Even worse, you took certain things for granted.”

“Why did you do that?” Elizbeth asked, gesturing to the still frozen corpse.

“To show you what this witch you're going to face is capable of.” the fiend illuminated. “Once in your dream, she will have access to your memories, your thoughts, and your fears. She will use them against you. People that you thought of as good will suddenly turn on you. Danger will lurk around every corner. She's like Aaron in a way.”

“In what way?” Beurling inquired, walking over to where she dropped the knife and picking it up, wiping the mud across her left leg.

“He was originally created as a psychological warfare specialist.” Ismenoth answered. “The way he fights his enemies involves getting into their heads, sowing seeds of doubt and fear, creating moments of hesitation that he can exploit. Even when he's not fighting, he's still playing his little mind games. Times when he looks happy, times when he's sad, all of it is a grand illusion to throw people off. No one knows his true feelings except for me and him.”

“So what you're saying is that I can't ever let my guard down and keep up the pace.” Elizabeth remarked. “Then I'm going to have to train harder.”

“Speaking of training,” the demonness mused, “I want to share a little secret that I didn't tell your friends. This witch is not as powerful as I made her out to be. All magic requires the user to have a fully trained mind and body in order to utilize the aetheric energies correctly. When it comes to neuromancy, even the best prodigies average four and a half years to get to that point. Even if we assume that this witch was implanted with a core at the very start of the retreat, it's impossible for her to be fully in tune with her powers in just six months.”

 _I'm fighting a novice then. This means that I can- no, I will win!_ With confidence, Beurling looked back up at Ismenoth and stated, “I'm ready to do anything and everything possible to kill this bitch. Train me more.”

A grin appeared on Ismenoth's face and she nodded. She snapped her fingers and the duo were instantly surrounded by the entirety of the base staff, armed with a variety of weapons. Her past self, the nasty bruises and cuts completely gone was flanked by the dead witch, both armed with the same kukri knife that Elizabeth had. Regarding the Canadian, she asked, “Are you ready to take this to the next level?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and resurrected those feelings she used earlier, concentrating all of her rage into a bubbling ball. Her world became red and soon, the faces of all those around her started to morph into hers. Bringing up her own knife, she muttered, “Bring it on.”

****************

Aaron poured another full glass of whiskey for himself from the bottle he snatched from the ballroom bar as he sat nearby the still sleeping Elizabeth while Ismenoth held her hands. They had their eyes closed and he had been passing the time watching them move underneath their eyelids, darting his way and that like they were tracing a picture. A first aid kit was on his left side and he took another look at Beurling, looking for any signs of injury. Divale sighed with relief as he saw no real damage done, save for a bit of bruising around the knuckles. He raised the glass with the intention of taking a drink, but before the liquid could even tough his lips, a small cut appeared on the left cheek of the witch, blood slowly oozing out of the wound. Quick as a flash, he took a small gauze pad from the fist aid kit and pressed it gently on the cut. It was at that moment that both women opened their eyes.

“Excellent work Elizabeth.” Ismenoth congratulated. “You really have taken this training seriously. I feel that you are just about ready to face her down. We'll take a small break before that. When you're ready to go back in, let me know.” She got up from the ottoman and shifted behind the warlock. Leaning in she added, “It's such a pity that she was born a woman Aaron. She would've made a fine warlock.”

“Why? So she could die like the rest?” Divale shot back. The comment made the demonness laugh and she strolled away, stretching her arms over her head and wiggling her legs. He then turned his attention back to Elizabeth who had took over gauze duties. “So how did it go in there?” he asked.

“Crazy as fuck,” Beurling replied, taking off the gauze pad and tentatively testing to see if the bleeding had stopped. “But I got through it. Took a cheap shot towards the end.” Once she saw that the wound had stopped bleeding she threw the gauze over her head and inquired, “How long was I out?”

“Not long.” Aaron answered. “Maybe fifteen minutes tops.”

The witch's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she heard that. “Fifteen minutes?!” she exclaimed. “The way it was going in there, it felt like hours!”

“Time is relative in the dream world.” Divale stated. “What might be eight hours of sleep might only last for half that time or even less.”

“Never thought of it like that.” Elizabeth quipped. She noticed the glass of whiskey and queried, “You wouldn't happen to have another one handy?” The warlock simply handed over his own glass and took up the bottle in his right hand, offering a toast. The two clinked their glasses and took deep swallows. After she had her fill for now, the witch stated, “I can see why you hate her. She's pure evil.”

“I hate the fucking bitch with all my heart and soul and I will never trust her for as long as I live, but I have to admit that Ismenoth is a very good teacher and motivator. I mean, I'm still alive so I guess that counts for something right?” Aaron informed. “So did she train you with that whole harness your anger routine she likes to pull?”

“How did you know?” Beurling asked.

“Man's intuition.” Divale responded with a sly grin.

“She also said that I did things that you never brought yourself to do.” the Canadian pointed out. “Said that I went past a door that didn't.”

“Belittling me even as I sit next to her. What a cunt.” the warlock muttered under his breath. “I never took her up in those sorts of things because of one simple reason. Anger is like morphine; it might get you out of tight spot, but the more you use it, the more you addicted you get to it. Also, anger is not infinite. Once the object of your hate goes away, the emotion goes along with it. However, since you're now under it's spell , you can't function properly without it. Your suffer withdrawals, just like you would with any normal drug and they hurt like a mother fucker. To stop the pain, you try to find something else to get you angry. Then that ends and you find another, and then another, and another, until one day when you wake up and look at yourself in the mirror you realize that your whole life revolved around hate, costing you your job, your friends, your family, and your fortune.” He looked at Elizabeth with a serious stare. “Whatever you do, don't carry this further than tonight.”

“I won't Aaron. I promise.” Beurling assured.

Divale looked over his shoulder to make sure Ismenoth wasn't close by. When he discovered that she was doing splits towards the far right wall, he leaned in and whispered, “A word from the wise: Regardless of the circumstance, no matter how pressed you are, don't ask her for help or else I won't be only one getting fucked later.”

******************

The rain continued to fall from the blackened skies, soaking everything it touched. Elizabeth sat in the middle of the runway, legs crossed and eyes closed, mentally preparing herself for the ordeal ahead of her. Though drop after drop pelted her without mercy, she didn't feel anything. Breathing calmly, but keeping the door to her anger wide open, Beurling thought about what Ismenoth told her before they went back into the dream world. _Not only is this fight a test of strength, it is also a test of wills. She will have the advantage in that she can alter things in your dream with near impunity, but these will only regard things outside of a certain distance from you. Therefore, it's imperative that you close the distance and stay close to her at all times. Avoid separation at all costs. Expect the unexpected, remember your training, and pace your rage. You will do this Elizabeth. Of course, you already knew that._

The crack of thunder rumbled faraway and the witch slowly opened her eyes. Assuming control of the environment, she projected her will outwards. Just as before, the rain stopped falling, but this time, the radius expanded much further. Staring at her work all the while, she noted how fast it took effect and from what range. _Looks to be a maximum of ten feet in all directions. Good to know._ Suddenly, the voice of Ismenoth rang in her head. +She's coming.+

“Where?” Elizabeth asked, springing to her feet and brandishing her kukri in her right hand.

+Trying to get a fix now. Stay sharp.+ Beurling panned her head in every direction, taking it all in and moving with measured steps. Her breathing slowed to the point where it felt like she wasn't. She continued to stop the deluge, but only outside of her outstretched arms. Another thunderclap boomed, this one much closer and from within the thick raindrops, one of the hanger doors started to open. The witch saw it and ran off to the right side, placing herself backfirst against the wall. Voices could be discerned over the plock plock of the rain. “I still can't believe we have to open the damn doors whenever we want to smoke.” a woman's voice complained. “That and the fucking water's going to get in and I'll have to clean it all up. Ridiculous.”

“If you think that's bad, the latrine roof is leaking again so guess who's going to have to go out there?” a man's voice retorted.

Lighters were flicked on and puffs of smoke floated upwards only to get mauled into nothing by the downpour in seconds. “Doing anything later?” the woman asked.

“I can think of one thing.” the man answered.

“In your dreams.” the woman flatly refused.

“Just thought I'd offer. It's going to be damp and cold tonight after all.” the man replied.

+I've got her location. She's at the HQ building. Locking her down.+ Beurling smiled when she heard that.  _Now the bitch is mine. But first we have to wait for these shits to finish._ No sooner did she think that than two lit butts sailed through the air and landed in a veritable sea of rainwater. The hanger doors were then quickly closed and she began to jog towards the HQ, a large three story tall wood and brick building at the end of the western runway.  _I should've known she would go there. Had so many run ins with the MP's that I knew most of the staff on a first name basis._ Her bare feet stomped into puddle after puddle, sending plumes of water everywhere. Squinting her eyes, Elizabeth could see two guards by the front door in dark green ponchos.  _Front door a no go. Have to circle around the back._ Veering hard, she kept a good distance lest the guards saw her and looped around the left side. Looking for a opening to get in, she grumbled in frustration as window after window was shut, the glow of lights shining through the panes distorted by the rain, looking more like Aaron's eyes than anything else. +And that's done. She can't get out of this now. Finish the job and let's go home.+

“As soon as I can get in the fucking place, I will.” the witch pointed out. She was now fully behind the structure in the parking lot, transports and town cars tucked neatly under a large tin roofed canopy. Her eyes lit up when she saw the back door completely free of surveillance and Elizabeth made a beeline for it. Reaching quickly, she tested the knob and found the door locked.  _Oh no you're not. You're open._ Trying it again, the knob turned fully and she pushed her way inside, checking her corners. No one was about and she took stock of her surroundings. In her immediate vicinity was a large cork board with keys dangling like Christmas ornaments from pegs. To the right was a door which she recalled was a janitor's closet and the left was an open corridor that would take one towards the front of the compound and to the stairs.  _Might behoove me to get dry and clean up. Mustn't leave a trace._ Beurling went over to the janitor's closet and found that it wasn't locked. She walked in and locked the door behind her. Inside the cramped space, the smell of cleaning supplies, damp mop heads in the disposal sink, and moth balls made her wrinkle her nose. On the shelving, right next to a pack of terry cloths, was a clean one piece janitor's uniform. The witch peeled off all of her soaked clothes and shoved them as deep as she could inside a trash can. Regarding her new style of dress, she saw that it was baggy.  _Good. Better to hide my feminine side._ “Where exactly in this place is she?” Elizabeth asked as she zipped herself up in the baggy disguise. +The base commander's office on the third floor. She's not moving so I think she's searching for you. Discretion is needed here until you get to her.+ 

Elizabeth tucked her kukri into a deep pocket and gathered up her hair up so that she could tuck it underneath the cap the uniform came with. Checking with her hands, she smiled when she could feel nothing out of place.  _As close to a man that I'll ever be._ Grabbing a mop, she unlocked the door and simply strolled out whistling softly. Mop head met floor and within five strokes the water was gone. Beurling was about to place the mop back into the closet when a voice called out, “Hey you!” Slowly, she turned around, careful to not look at the speaker directly. It was on of the administrative assistants and he was looking very cross. “Some of the waste bins in communications need to be emptied. Take care of them please.”  _Now if I remember correctly, communications is on the second floor right around the stairs leading up to the third. What a turn of events._ The disguised witch nodded and merely went back into the closet, putting the mop away as a normal janitor would and coming back out with a half dozen clean bags for the trash. By the time she walked out of the closet, the assistant was gone.  _Fine by me._

Beurling then started to walk down the corridor with measured steps, doing her best to look normal. Once she turned the corner, the main floor came into view. Office spaces for the low end personnel were scattered everywhere, the name plates clearly visible from the overhead lights. She could hear people typing as she passed them or having conversations on phones. On occasion, the random door opened and someone would walk either to another office or make a beeline for the door. A few actually smiled and waved at her and Elizabeth returned the gestures, their names and faces eliciting a bevy of emotions ranging from happiness to sadness depending on whom she saw.  _So many good people here once upon a time. Not many of them are left now._ Ignoring her past, she found the stairs and proceeded up to the second floor, sticking close to the right hand side to avoid bumping into people. It didn't take her long to get to the top and locate communications.  _The whole damn floor was dedicated to it. Such a waste. No one ever fucking called us._ The doors were wide open so she walked right in, making herself as silent as possible as to not disturb the radio operators and the secretaries who combed through every transmission and organized them into files that were stored away in massive four tiered cabinets the size of a small car. Craning her neck, Beurling looked at each and every wastebasket she saw, casually emptying those that needed it. Her journey took her closer and closer to the stair leading up to the third floor.  _So close. So very close. Don't lose focus now._

That was when an operator's head shot up and immediately flagged down his superior, a captain, who briskly trotted over and asked, “What is it sergeant?”

“It's a message from command in morse code.” the sergeant replied, deftly translating the phrases in his head. “Attention Station Dartmouth stop. Enemy spy activity detected in your immediate area stop. Spy's name is....” His voice trailed off as his eyes bugged out. “That can't be right.”

“Finish the translation sergeant. What is the spy's name?” the captain commanded.

“It's Elizabeth Beurling.” the sergeant murmured in disbelief.

+Guess she's getting impatient.+ Elizabeth left the last bin and deftly slid around the door to the office she was in and took a careful look around, seeing if anyone was watching her. No one was and she took two lunging steps to the stairwell and rounded the corner fast. Not a soul was there so she merely dropped the bags on the steps and took them two at a time as she bounded up them. Her right hand went to her kukri and she concentrated on bringing up all the anger she had bottled up. “Attention all personnel!” the loudspeakers on the walls called out. “Attention all personnel! Enemy spy detected on base grounds! It is Pilot Officer Elizabeth Beurling! Orders are to shoot on sight!”  _Cat's out of the bag now. It's go time._ The knife came fully out now and her ears picked up the sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps as she got to the top of the stairs. Placing her back against the wall, she waited and waited. Once the footfalls got loud enough, Elizabeth twirled into the hallway and slashed horizontally with the kukri. Two armed guards didn't have enough time to react before their throats were cut, stopping them dead in their tracks. With her free hand, she grabbed the pistol the closest guard was carrying and whipped her head around behind her. A few curious high level personnel popped out of their offices to see what the fuss was all about or to report to their stations. All they saw was a very angry witch with a loaded gun pointed directly at them holding a bloody knife standing over two dead bodies that were jetting crimson vitae onto the wooden floor. Shots rang out from Beurling's new weapon and head exploded like balloons spraying the walls with brain matter, cranial bones, and blood. 

The lucky few that had some sort of common sense ducked back into their offices and started shouting, “She's here on the third floor! Stop her!” Discarding the empty pistol, Elizabeth took up the real armament, a Thompson sub machine gun and ran for the base commander's office at the end of the hall. More enemies appeared, brandishing their pistols. The witch hosed the area with lead as she sprinted forwards, sending plaster and wood splinters everywhere. Her shields chimed as she took shot after shot, but she still kept going, killing with either the sub machine gun or her kukri. Bodies dropped like the rain outside as the door came closer and closer with every step. With a cry of anger, Elizabeth leapt into the area and kicked the door dead center with her right leg. The obstacle bent as the wood cracked and it came violently off the hinges. Forward rolling into the room proper, she sprang to her feet and came face to face with her foe. Standing up from the padded brown leather chair at the front of a large oak desk was a Japanese woman dressed as a traditional samurai with her white top and red skirt. A camera, a Leica II, hung around her neck along with a black scarf. Her brown eyes regarded her with amusement as she ran her hands through her short brown hair.  _So this is Katou Keiko. She's about my height and probably my weight too. Even match, but I'm going to win._ With one eye trained on her target, Beurling scanned the room. It was luxuriously decorated with paintings and framed photographs lining the blue painted walls. There were some chairs on the left hand side and a small sofa on the right. A bookcase with several volumes sat near a large oval window that was directly behind the desk on the left. Towards the right was a metal file cabinet. An overhead light flickered on and off as the storm played with the power. 

“So, instead of me coming to you, you have come to me. How interesting Elizabeth Beurling. Are you that much of a hurry to suffer?” Keiko remarked.

“The only person that's going to suffer is you” the Canadian replied coldly, sending the now mended door back to it's proper place through sheer force of will. “I'm going to fucking kill you.”

Regarding the now closed and locked door with a raised eyebrow, Katou laughed. “I don't think so. I'm in control of the situation and that door isn't going to keep them out forever. It's pointless to resist me.” she countered.

Suddenly, the desk phone was sent through the air and nearly slammed into the Japanese witches skull had she not ducked at the last second. It went through the glass with a mighty crash, the sounds of wind and rain entering the room. Not finished, Elizabeth aimed her Thompson and fired at the only conceivable hiding spot Katou had, peppering the left side hard with .45 caliber bullets. There weren't many left in the magazine and soon the trigger clicked. Hearing that, Keiko hurled the desk at Beurling. The Canadian dropped the gun and front flipped into the air, narrowly missing the edge by an inch. The enemy took advantage of the situation and ran around near the chairs. Using her hands, all of them rose into the air and broke apart into long rods, sharpened at the ends. Seeing what was about to happen, Elizabeth vaulted over the sofa and tipped it over just before the Japanese witch sent the wooden stakes at her. They quickly turned the piece of furniture into a pincushion and ripped the leather into shreds. As more and more hit, the more and more she saw that they were slowly getting through. Looking around the room, her eyes rested on some of the books and an idea formed in her head. Holding her hand out, one of the tomes, a Bible by the looks of it, flew into her hands. Keiko furrowed her brow at the ploy, but once she saw Elizabeth open it up and that the words started swirling like whirlpools, she turned around and grabbed a framed picture off the wall. With the sound of crackling energy, a bolt of light exploded from the pages and hit the picture dead center. However, Katou managed to angle the glass enough to deflect the beam upwards into the ceiling. It caused the wood and plaster above their heads to disintegrate into dust and splinters, filling the air with a dense mist. Rain fell down like a waterfall from the hole and the floor became wet and slick. She saw her opportunity to escape and ran up the near wall and jumped off at an angle. She caught hold of the overhead light and used that to swing her up, into, and through the gap. 

Beurling saw it happen and cursed herself.  _Shit! I let her get away from me! I need to close the distance!_ Knowing that to follow her up the same path would be stupid, she willed the file cabinet to go over to the broken window and fall on its side, the weight crushing stray fragments.  _I should be close enough to the roof to climb up._ Using that as a makeshift bridge, she walked out into the deluge and looked up. Sure enough, it was within easy range and she made ready to get to the roof, but through the rain shower, she heard someone yell, “There she is! Shoot her!” Whipping her head around at the speaker, she saw a jeep idling in the rear parking lot, a machine gun swinging right at her. Not pausing long enough for them to get a bead, she jumped up and sent the file cabinet flying at the jeep. The men in the vehicle gawked as it dropped like a bomb from the sky. It hit with the same force as well, pulping the pair like rotten tomatoes. Elizabeth hoisted herself up and rolled over the water break wall and onto the roof proper. Air raid sirens began to wail as she saw Katou standing at the far end of the building, eyeing her with malice.  _There you are you bitch._ She ran forwards, skirting the hole in the commander's office. 

Keiko clapped her hands and fissures appeared in the roof, widening and widening as if under the influence of an earthquake. Bits of the water break wall came loose and hovered over the scene like vultures waiting for some sick animal to die in the desert. Elizabeth focused intently on all threats and slowed her breathing.  _Stay on top of it! You got this!_ Suddenly, two then three rocketed forwards like meteors. The witch rolled, spun, and flipped like an Olympic gymnast vying for a gold medal, dodging each of them. The enemy sent more at her and more still, but none connected as she got closer and closer. Clenching her fists in rage, the Japanese witch took off her scarf and cracked it like a whip. The normally short neck covering got longer and longer and the tip changed into the head of a giant snake, the fangs dripping with venom as it opened its maw. Beurling roared in defiance as she brought her kukri up over her head and delivered a vicious downwards cut. The snake opened it's jaws impossibly wide to catch her, but it was too slow. The blade found purchase in the scaly hide and the forward momentum from both parties resulted in the snake's head been cloven in two in a spray of crimson. Muscular innards tugged at Elizabeth's disguise so much that the janitor's uniform came off. Ignoring the fact that she was now naked to her enemy, she twisted hard left, narrowing avoiding the sharp rib bones of the now dead snake, landing on her feet. 

Both combatants were now ten feet apart from the other and glared at each other with hatred in their eyes, listening to the sounds of rain and sirens for a good few seconds. Nodding slowly, Keiko uttered, “I see now why you came for me. You also have my gift within you, yet mine is awake while yours lies dormant. Strange that you can alter the dream world so well, but no matter. It is time for me to leave now. Goodbye.” Beurling found it very hard not to smile as she saw her foe try to will herself out of the prison that Ismenoth trapped her in, noticing the look of shock and fear in her eyes as she strained and strained in vain to escape.

“Looks like you're out of luck cunt.” the Canadian jested. “You're not getting out of here alive.” As she said that, everything outside of ten feet from them got smaller and smaller as the mass rose up high into the air, coming to a rest a good few hundred feet above the surface.

Katou composed herself, calmly taking the camera off her neck and placing it down, and reached into her right sleeve. “If I can't kill you that way, I'll just do it the old fashioned way.” she seethed. In her left hand, she held a tanto and held it up to her face. Recognizing what the gesture meant, Elizabeth copied the motion, not letting the witch out of her sight. Time slowed to a crawl as the two witches stared each other down, each one waiting for the other to attack first. Keiko smiled coldly and arched her right foot slowly, her opponent doing the same. Lightning flashed across the sky and the two rushed at each other. The two blades clashed just as the sound of thunder rolled throughout the valley. Beurling had the slight advantage in speed and swung repeatedly for the witch's legs, trying to take away her mobility. Her foe saw this and hopped away to avoid the strike. The Canadian continued to press, driving her opponent further and further towards the edge, slashing at any part that could be exposed. Steel met steel as the weapons deflected lethal blows. Katou planted her right foot down and held her position. Another swing came from Elizabeth's end and she grabbed her arm for just a second and pulled her towards her. Using her back foot, she rushed forwards, but Beurling did the exact reverse. Several overhead swings from the tanto cut through the rain drops. One found the mark and Elizabeth winced as the tip of the blade sliced into the flesh just above her left breast, but she saw an opening as well and lashed out with her kukri. Keiko spun out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid a cut across the upper shoulder of her right arm.

The two separated and composed themselves, watching the blood ooze of the wounds and drip onto what remained of the roof. Raising their weapons once more, both charged in. Changing up her style, Katou switched the tanto over to her right hand and led forwards with her left. They met in the middle and delivered vicious cuts, and the Japanese witch took special care to regard the distance between them, knowing full well that she had to take the reach advantage away from her enemy. She slid her tanto into the notches in the kukri and twisted again and again, trying to open Beurling up for a killing blow. Managing to do so, Keiko delivered a quick slash just as Elizabeth led in with her right shoulder. It bit into the top part of her shoulder blade, sparing her arm. The searing pain caused her to move back just a quarter step, but Katou wouldn't allow her to escape that easily, driving at her like a punch drunk madman. The aggression forced Beurling back, sidestepping and doing her best to counter with defensive slashes and feints. The Japanese witch lunged with a piercing strike, intending to end the fight right then and there. However, her counterpart smiled as she vaulted over the outstretched arm, spinning like a top horizontally. With a cry of anger she drove the butt of her kukri at an angle into the middle of the back of her enemy. It stopped her cold and sent her to her knees, nearly dropping the tanto in the process. Once Elizabeth landed, she reversed her grip and slashed upwards at the neck, but Katou rolled away. She began to pursue, but suddenly her foe paused mid roll and spun back towards her, stabbing with her blade.

It caught Beurling off guard and she hastily backed off, gritting her teeth in rage as her opponent was left free to get back up to her feet. Keiko resumed the offensive, showing no signs of the hit she took earlier. The Canadian had no choice but to go back on the defensive, hating herself for it with every stab, cut, and slash that he sidestepped or deflected. _I can't stay like this forever. I need to go forwards._ Screaming, she wiggled her wrist as the tanto came at her again and bent it suddenly, the tip of the kukri driving into the webbing between her opponent's thumb and forefinger and embedding itself into the hilt. Grunting in pain, the witch tried to wrench it free, but she couldn't. With her left hand, Elizabeth threw a flurry of body blows against the midsection and under the arm, trying to knock the wind out of her. She also pushed her back at the half step getting now towards the middle of the circle. Katou yelled as she finally got free and kicked her enemy right into the stomach, knocking her away. Wincing from the hit the Canadian refused to surrender the momentum, cutting through the air, but her foe had the exact same idea. Within easy spitting distance, the two sparred with blade and hand, neither wanting to give an inch. Suddenly, there was a breakthrough for Beurling as she connected with a cut that slashed through Keiko's right cheek, the teeth visible for but a second before becoming awash with blood. She saw some drops of crimson get into her eyes and she took the opportunity to execute a feint to draw her off guard. The ploy worked and Katou threw an overhead strike. With her left hand, Elizabeth caught her wrist and swung upwards with her kukri. Her enemy couldn't get out of the way and the tip of the knife sliced through the skin of her head, vitae jetting everywhere. With no other option, the Japanese witch attempted to cast the tanto to her off hand with just her fingers. It sped through the rain, but not fast enough. With a flick of her wrist, Beurling knocked the blade towards her, catching it hilt first in her mouth as she did a split. It took her opponent down enough for her to slash upwards with her kukri.

The knife hit fully underneath the groin and she drove it upwards. Keiko howled as the blade sliced up into her bladder and intestines, the hole it created causing them to leak out. Elizabeth felt the strength in her enemy ebb and she let go of the wrist, spat the tanto into it, and cut Katou's throat, silencing her screams. Her work done, she back rolled away and got to her feet. She watched the witch, hold her neck with one hand and her ruined abdomen with the other, blood gushing out with every heartbeat and gurgle. Despite the agony she was surely in, her opponent's eyes never looked away from her own. Slowly, the Japanese witch sank to her knees and the eyelids flickered as life left her body. Another flash of lightning came about and the witch fell to her right side, her body striking the roof just as the thunder rumbled in the distance. Now able to relax, Beurling collapsed to her knees, panting like an overheated dog in summer. _It's over. I've done it._ Looking over at the nearby camera, a idea came over her. She grabbed it by the strap and pulled it towards her. After checking to see if it was good to go, she stood up and looked through the lens. “Smile for the birdie bitch.” she muttered with a grin.

***************

After making sure that the wounds were fully bandaged and not getting any worse one last time, Ismenoth gently laid the sleeping Elizabeth down on the silver sheet she'd decided to cast off and covered her up. She moved some of the hair out of her eyes and kissed her on the forehead. “Well done. Get a full night's sleep Elizabeth. You earned it.” she whispered. Remembering something, the demonness sat back up, put her hands together, and blew over them. Opening them back up, a picture appeared, one of a dead witch in the rain. “A token of my esteem.” she whispered once more, reverently placing the photograph next to Beurling's reposing body. With that done, Ismenoth got up and regarded Aaron who was standing by the open ballroom door. _Now to collect my fee._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the will of a shadow council, Aaron is forced to put his demons to rest once and for all. But does he has the strength to follow through?

_ **Chapter XVII: Judgment Day** _

_The only way you can get up from rock bottom is only after you hit it and get sick and tired of being there. I am now very sick and very tired of being like this. It is time for a change. I just wish that I got to this point much sooner._

Diary Entry June 24th 1944

“So Audie, how do those silver bars feel? They getting heavy yet?” Aurora asked the newly promoted lieutenant as she poured herself another drink.

“It's not too bad really.” Murphy replied, smiling like he hadn't a care in the world. “Feels strange though.”

“Oh, come the fuck on lad,” Edmund chastised while rolling his eyes, “you deserved it for what you did around Derna with those bunkers.”

“He's right.” Wilma chimed in. “You cleared all the way up to H5 you madlad. No one else even got close to the six line, not even Aaron.”

“And you do know how hard it is to beat him at something.” Elizabeth pointed out, taking a big gulp from her glass.

“If only you realized that before you got shot down in flames at that beach.” Rudel remarked.

Beurling frowned as the memory played out in her head. “I didn't get shot down,” she pouted with her nose in the air, “I merely peeled away to get a better angle.”

“Good luck with that.” Helga commented, stretching out her legs a bit more as she sat next to Audie.

Murphy tuned out the conversation at that point and looked around the fire at his friends having a good time following his promotion just an hour earlier. Air Commander Neumann traveled all the way away from the front lines at El Aghelia and delivered it personally. Under normal circumstances, a representative of the American military would do the honors, but there were no Americans at all in North Africa except him. _And I can't exactly make a speech to make me sound bigger than I am. Hardly went to school long enough to know how._ Despite that, he took it all in stride, saluting proudly as the silver bars were attached to his collar. Everyone smiled with joy and pride at seeing one of their own getting honored and everyone applauded when it was all done. However, no one smiled and clapped more loudly than Von Kreiger. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that she was looking at him with furtive glances and the American started to blush. _You just can't quit me can you Helga? Well, I can't quit you either, but we can't go further than what we've been doing._ Audie then took a quick take of the cloudy skies above them, wishing that he could see the stars. It had been nine days since the last sleepless night in Benghazi passed and the whole squadron had been relocated a dozen or so miles away from El Agheila, roughly one hundred and fifty miles from that hotel. While Elizabeth did help end the plague of insomnia that gripped the Allies, the toll was far more severe than previously thought. Rommel and Montgomery had so many troops out of commission that launching an offensive right away would've failed dramatically. They realized that they had no choice but to wait until they got back up to speed. The enemy took advantage of the lull in the fighting and reinforced the city. _And after all that time, not a single clear sky at night. Maybe after we attack those bunkers and clear a path for the main force tomorrow morning there will be stars._

“Hello?” a voice called out from behind him. “Earth to Murphy. Are you there?” The lieutenant turned around and saw Aaron standing right there with a lit cigarette in his mouth and a half bottle of gin in his left hand.

“Excuse me there Lieutenant Divale,” Marseilles stated, observing the alcohol from over the flames, “but you do realize that you have guard duty in fifteen minutes?”

Raisa peered down at her watch and nodded, “How much have you had?” she inquired.

“Not a whole lot.” Divale replied, knowing that a half bottle of anything wasn't enough to faze him now. “I'm just using it to keep warm.”

“You're a natural furnace. You don't need anymore so cut it out.” his superior officer ordered.

“Or better yet, maybe you could donate some to us thirsty people.” Beurling suggested, holding out her empty glass.

“Alcohol does inhibit your body's natural healing factor.” the warlock informed, gesturing with his free hand at where she had been wounded.

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth countered. “The booze merely disinfects and preserves. How else can you explain why I still look so amazing at my age?”

 _Oh I don't know. Maybe it's because you've been scheming to get me in the sack since day one you randy lush._ “Wouldn't be able to figure.” Aaron responded, reluctantly handing over the gin to her. “However, I do figure that I would like to talk to our new lieutenant for a bit.” he added. “Come with me for a bit Murphy.”

“Sure.” Audie agreed, getting up and almost immediately regretting it when the muscles in his legs stretched out. _Have to really watch how long I sit._ The two men walked outside of the light of the fire and weaved in and among the tents of their comrades. After a few turns Murphy began to get uneasy. _Where is he taking me?_ As if he heard him, Aaron stopped and looked up at the sky. Curious, the American looked up and nearly gasped when he saw a small break in the cloud cover. Though they were few in number, the stars shined more brightly than the fire he just left.

“It's truly a sight for sore eyes isn't it?” Divale queried.

“Damn right.” Audie answered with a broad smile.

“Really makes you appreciate the simple things in life. Makes you cherish moments like this.” the warlock went on, his bronze orbs scanning the heavenly bodies.

Murphy turned his gaze away from the heavens and furrowed his brow as he stared at Aaron who looked like he was contemplating something. “You okay?” he asked.

“Are you and Helga okay?” Aaron inquired, taking a small drag from his cigarette.

The question caught Audie completely off guard and he struggled to find the words to answer him. “Well... yes, I mean, as far as I know.” he managed to say.

Divale chuckled and shook his head in amusement. “You really do like her don't you?” he queried.

The new lieutenant began to blush again and he nodded, “I guess I do. Things have been pretty good between us.”

“Glad to hear young man.” Aaron stated sincerely. “You should show it more though. She's obviously head over heels for you too you know. So go ahead and let her realize that you have feelings for her.”

“I would love to.” Murphy countered. “Honest to God I want to, but there's just too many issues that need to get sorted out first before that happens.”

Divale sucked the last of the cigarette down to the butt and let it drop unceremoniously from his mouth onto the sand. “And what in the hell would those so called issues be?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows.

“For starters,” Audie began, finding his train of thought, “the war is sill going on and I don't want to give her a memory of pain rather than happiness if something were to happen to-” Before he could finish his sentence, Aaron violently whipped around on his heels and swore under his breath.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me!” he blurted in frustration, looking up at the sky once more. He turned around and glared at the American in disappointment. “Let me tell you something Audie and listen really damn good. I understand why you're doing what you're doing, but life is too short to worry about shit like that. That way of thinking has no place in the twentieth century. All it will do is fill you with regret at not having the balls to take a chance before something bad does happen. You, her, doesn't matter. Any one of us could die tomorrow, myself included, which is why I drank tonight knowing full well that I had guard duty. It's better to live in the here and now rather than wringing your hands and asking yourself what might have been.” Tears began to well up in the warlock's eyes and he placed his hands on the tips of Murphy's shoulders. “Don't take her for granted my friend.” he pleaded. “Don't make the same mistake that I did.” His words shocked the lieutenant to the point where he didn't know where to begin. _Where the hell is this coming from Aaron?_ Suddenly, Divale simply turned around and walked away. “Enjoy the rest of your night Audie. I'm off to go count sand grains.”

The warlock didn't so much as look back over his shoulder and waited a bit to wipe the tears out of his eyes, seeking to get as much distance as possible. _Don't want him to see just how much it got to me. You're a good man Audie, but she's a good woman. Yeah, I'm sure that the fact I fucked her leaves a bad taste in your mouth as well as what she did back at Dover. That's all in the past now and we've made our peace with that. Please don't wait for the end Murphy. It's not fair to you or her. Take this chance now or it will pass you by._ He cleared his mind of the melancholy thoughts just in time to see his tent right in front of him. Before he could hunch down and open the flap, the sound of footsteps behind him made him do a quick shoulder roll to the left. Unfurling his wings, he prepared for the worst, but relaxed when he noticed that it was only Edytha walking calmly towards him. “I thought you left after the ceremony.” Aaron remarked as he got back to his feet and tucked his wings back.

“I still had some business with Hanna that needed to get taken care of.” Neumann answered, coming to a stop in front of him. “Awfully jumpy tonight. What's all that about?”

“It's who I am.” Divale replied, wiping his uniform clean of the sand and running his hands through his long hair and beard. “What did you have to talk to her about if you don't mind me asking.”

“During our little excursion, Lieutenant Murphy told me how Marseilles was treating you and I didn't like it. So I decided to stop on by and have a chat with her.” the air commander responded.

“How did that turn our?” Aaron inquired, assuming that it failed miserably.

“Surprisingly well.” Edytha admitted. “I thought it was going to turn into our usual shouting matches, but she was very amicable to the idea. Didn't ask why because I didn't want to say anything that could mess it up.” She thought about it and queried, “Why do you think that is lieutenant? Any idea at all?”

 _Oh I can think of a few things, but you don't need to know them._ Divale simply shrugged and stated, “Your guess is as good as mine Edytha. I appreciate all this and our talk, but I've got to get going. Marseilles would grill me if she knew I was late.”

“Even if you were, your honorable superior wouldn't do anything of the sort because before I got here, I took the liberty of altering the lines a bit so that posting guards on our end would be unnecessary.” Neumann countered with a grin.

 _I could kiss you right now you beautiful witch._ “Nice.” Aaron stated with a satisfied nod. “Looks like I'm getting a few extra hours of sleep tonight after all.”

“Please do. You have a long day ahead of you Lieutenant Divale. That's an order.” the air commander insisted.

Divale gave Edytha a razor sharp salute and emphatically exclaimed, “Yes ma'am!” No sooner did he say those two words, he disappeared into his tent without so much as waiting for the return salute. Edytha lightly chuckled to herself as she turned and walked away towards the main command tent. After a few feet, she looked back over her right shoulder, her eyes lingering on the warlock's tent. _That takes care of the first part of me being here. Now for the second._

*******************

The inside of the spacious tent was as silent as a mausoleum as the squadron sat around a large round table, waiting for the last few people to arrive. Marseilles looked down at her watch while taking a small drink of water from her canteen. _Edytha should be back any moment now._ Gazing around at her comrades, Hanna closed her eyes and sighed. _As much as this is needed, I still can't believe we're having a secret meeting about him. Why is he getting this treatment? No one fucking gave me the courtesy when I was hurting._ The tent flap fluttered, breaking her inner monologue and in walked Neumann with Amelie and Juliette right behind her. “And with you three we are complete.” the lieutenant quipped, relieved that they could now get this rolling. Glancing up at Neumann she asked, “I take it he bought it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker as the Americans would say.” Edytha replied. “Honestly didn't think it would work considering that he's normally very good at discerning lies.”

“It wouldn't have worked if he was his normal self.” Amelie pointed out, taking her seat. It didn't take long for the remaining witches to sit down. Deveraux was the last to do so and she placed her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers and rubbing her thumbs together.

After composing herself, the French witch formally began the meeting. “It's good to see everyone here. I know that this was on short notice, but it can't be helped. Things have progressed too far and too fast for comfort. If we don't do something now, I really think that Aaron is going to break. None of us want that. Before proposing solutions, I think it would be best to hear anyone's input. Anything and everything we find out will help in the long run.”

Von Kreiger cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I knew Aaron back when he was still in command of his original unit back in Austria. As I'm sure you all know by now, I was still with The Thirteen Legion back then, but he didn't know at the time and I didn't know who he truly was either until much later. He looked the part of a soldier and commander, but there was something about him even then that made me wonder if he was as strong as I thought. As he talked with my father and I, I saw this constant alertness, like he could never relax. And afterwards when he simply passed the time with his men, he looked just so sad and lonely. That face he had then stuck with me for a long time. After I saw him for the first time since then at Dover, he had changed. I think it was because of Lucretia, his lover and psychologist for those that don't know, and his new friends acting as psychological supports and anchors that really raised him up from what he once was. Now with her dead and his old friends scattered Lord knows where, he's lost again. I figure he'd be in rough shape, but I never imagined just how bad off he truly was until we had a good long talk while we were waiting for the poison gas cloud to disperse after blowing up that bunker in El Alamein.”

Edytha slowly nodded. “So this appears to have been a problem for the lieutenant for a lot longer than we thought. What did he talk about?” she observed.

Helga continued, “Things that still give me nightmares. Aaron just broke down in front of me like a house of cards in a hurricane. He told me straight to my face that he didn't want to live past Berlin, that he was going to commit suicide by combat rather than go on living. That and he was supposed to die many years ago for being too weak in the eyes of those that created him, but he was saved at the eleventh hour by my own father no less. As he watched Europe burn and his people die all around him, he believed that it was all his fault, that he was simply incapable of stopping the Neuroi. He began drinking, smoking, and when he got around to that notion, fucking heavily in order to forget. Then he said something to me that still rings in my ears. He said, and I quote, 'Every day felt like an eternity of anguish, debauchery, and depravity and I found myself immersed in that lifestyle. Yet no matter how many shots I sent downwind or down my throat, how many skulls and legs I split, or lives I lost and saved in operations in the field or on the table, it never could erase the feelings of helplessness and inadequacy.'.” She started to silently cry and Audie took her by the hand as a display of solidarity. It did the trick and she proceeded with an emotionally pained voice, “But the worst part of it was that he knew all the long what was happening to him, yet he continued to lie to not just himself but to everyone he ever knew, even the woman he dearly loved to and beyond death itself. He hated every falsehood he told, but he couldn't stop because he was so scared about making people not trust him. And he also said this: 'People like thinking that I’m some sort of saint, a paragon, an angel, or a pillar of strength. When deep down, all I am in the end is just a scared insecure sad kid who wants nothing more than to lay his head down to sleep one night and not wake up the next day, to not be in pain, to stop feeling afraid, and to finally know what it means to be at peace.'.”

“So suicidal thoughts and an inferiority complex to boot.” Marseilles mused. “Which would then explain why he simply did whatever I asked him to do without complaint.”

“While I certainly think he does have all that in spades, I know from personal experience that he isn't afraid of giving it back when he's in charge or believes he's in the right.” Edmund added. “I saw that man lay both his hands on Prime Minister Churchill when he was formally enlisted and I heard from Pottgen that he told General Montgomery to a grow a pair and get used to losing men in combat.”

“You never told me he did that!” Wilma blurted in shock.

“I didn't think it was warranted at the time luv. I'm sorry.” the captain apologized.

“Going back to the inferiority complex,” Amelie stated, “Aaron even told me when he was rescuing what remained of me and Juilette's old unit that he wasn't a hero. Doesn't want to put himself on a pedestal.”

“Which make me think that's why he gives credit where credit is due. It's a coping mechanism.” Elizabeth commented. “Me, Rudel, and Wilma saw it during the after party after we won that charity soccer match.”

“But it only works so far.” Rudel remarked. “He got very emotional when one of our teammates called him a monster, running away from us. Didn't even tell us where he was going either. Just up and left.”

“I think he's very very close to going off the deep end. When he was talking to me just a few minutes ago, I thought he was going to break and cry right in front of me.”

“What did you two talk about?” Aurora asked.

Audie got visibly uncomfortable and answered, “It's a private matter folks. I don't feel comfortable in discussing it.”

“That's okay lieutenant. It's fine.” Juutilainen assured, waving her hands in front of her. She then placed them both on the table and shook her head from side to side. “Poor guy. I really do feel sorry for him. Aaron's a genuinely good guy and it kills me that he's suffering like this. There aren't enough fingers and toes here that can count off the number of cigarettes I've seen him smoke and the drinking is so out of control that we could build a bridge across the Mediterranean with the empty bottles. That and he looks so fucking awful. His hair, the beard, it's a far cry from the man I saw at Vorkuta. He deserves so much better than what he's had and got now.” she lamented.

“It kills all of us.” Juliette agreed. “Anyone else want to say anything?” When no one added anything further she then moved on to the next topic. “To summarize, we all agree that Aaron has intense feelings of inferiority and periodic ones of suicide when under extreme emotional duress. It's causing psychological fragility. Going back to what Helga said about his support system, to me I think that he has been relying on these anchors to get through the worst of times. I'm fairly certain that he had them in his old unit, and when those connections were severed, he fell to his knees and couldn't get up. Same thing happened with the 501st. If that's true, then I think we're going to have a tough time. All this combined with his mental baggage might be too much for him to bear if we use conventional means. Without further ado, who here would like to propose a solution?”

Marseilles wasted no time in giving her opinion. “I think we should transfer him out as soon as possible.” she declared, triggering gasps of dangling jaws. Raisa looked up at her with confusion and anger.

Edytha's eyes flashed with rage and she stood up from her chair. “How dare you say something like that Lieutenant Marseilles! You're way out of line! Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull in order to get him here!? How many favors I had to call in!? That is absolutely out of the question! He's staying here! End of discussion!” she yelled, her hands balled into fists.

“She's right! That was a terrible thing to say Hanna! If Aaron was in your place right now, he wouldn't simply throw you away like garbage!” Pottgen chimed angrily.

“Listen, both of you. Hear me out.” the besieged lieutenant pleaded. The assaulting duo reluctantly quelled their indignation and allowed her to continue. “He's clearly unhappy and needs help, but I don't think we can do that here with what's going on. Aaron needs to be somewhere else away, far away from all this for a while.”

“And where do you suggest he go?” Aurora inquired. “There's only two real options: the 502ndand the 503rd. They're both based in Russia and are very well led, but they've been really hard pressed defending the Urals. Sending him to another rough front isn't going to do any good. It's just going to exacerbate his problems. Plus, you can't exactly send him back to the 501st because they've been disbanded.”

“What about the 506th then?” Marseilles queried. “I know they've recently been formed and are still looking for pilots last I checked. He knows the people and the land. Those two things will be invaluable for them.”

“More likely than not, they'll probably stick him leading the whole squadron.” Amelie deduced. “That won't do either because Aaron has repeatedly stated that he doesn't want command. I really see no option here.”

Hanna racked her brain for another solution, something to get her point across. “Even if he declines the command, he'll still serve. That's what he does. He'll also be close by Ypres where three of his former squadron members are. Aaron can-” A heavy fist slammed on the table hard, stopping the conversation mid sentence. Everyone whipped their heads around, trying to figure out who did it. Eyebrows raised when they discovered that it was Wilma, her face contorted with rage.

“If you're so dead set on getting rid of him then fine!” she seethed. “But make no mistake: If he goes I go! The only reason I came here with my husband was because of Aaron! I knew with him around that we stood a chance of getting out of here in one piece!”

“Same with me lieutenant.” Edmund added solemnly. “The safety of my wife is paramount. Where she goes, I go.”

“I'll join you in that.” Elizabeth offered.

“Wait a God damn minute here! You three can't do that!” Marseilles barked.

“They actually can.” Neumann explained. “All their forms contain a clause that allows them to leave if they feel that the environment isn't a good fit. Naturally, you'll have to sign off on them and if you don't they have right to appeal to a higher authority, namely me.”

Hanna's face pales slightly and she swallowed hard. “You really would let them walk?” she asked. The air commander slowly yet sincerely nodded and the wind left the lieutenant's sails. “Alright. Having him transferred out is officially dead so now what do we do?”

“Aaron needs to hit rock bottom. I say we present a united front and confront him with this, all of it.” Rudel advised. “We now know where Aaron's vulnerable. If all of us press and press, hitting those weak spots, we'll force the issue, he'll then come about to our way of thinking, and then we can help him get better.”

“Wouldn't that make him feel like he's being attacked?” Raisa inquired, drawing a glare from her fellow countrywoman. “Don't get me wrong, I agree that he needs to sink to that level, but we're not psychologists here. If Lucretia by her lonesome couldn't crack his will, what makes you think all of us can?”

“Hold on.” Juliette suddenly stated, presenting a raised right index finger. “I think you both are on to something.” She got up from her seat and continued. “I'm about to say something that may in fact be the key to all of this. Helga told me at Tobruk that I look almost exactly like Lucretia which was why Aaron acted so strangely whenever I was around him.”

Helga looked at her with trepidation. “Are you suggesting what I think you're about to do? That's very risky Juliette.” she stated.

“I know, but my mind is made up. He's going to confront his demons tonight.” Deveraux vowed.

*************

Aaron groaned as his eyelids flicked open. _Holy shit, what the fuck was in that gin?_ Suddenly, the front tent flap started to mildly flutter catching him off guard. _Now that's strange. I could've sworn I secured it before going to sleep._ Knowing he had to do something or else loose sand would get in, Divale tried to get up, but his arms and legs simply refused to budge. It was as if he was held down by some great invisible force or struck by paralysis. His whole body trembled like a scared puppy as he strained ever fiber of muscle in an attempt to break free, but he was locked down tight. _What the fuck is going on?! Why can't I move?! Why can't I talk?!_ That was when his nose caught the aroma of something utterly foul. The warlock's face wrinkled in disgust as he started to identify certain scents within the disgusting potpourri. _Smells like death and decay, just like in Warsaw or the Pripet Marshes.. Almost several months worth probably. That there is wet earth. Very strong, very fresh. But there's something else there too. What is it?_ Aaron could now pick up the sounds of footsteps or rather foot shuffles as someone or something moved beyond his sight. Quickly judging where it was coming from, he managed to deduce that it was off to his right side and was making its way towards the front of the tent. With every grinding rub of sole on sand, the tent flap started to flutter more violently, billowing the stench inside even more. Fear gripped his mind harder than the ones locking him in place. _What the fuck?! What the fuck is this?!_ In an instant, the mysterious odor whose identity had eluded him finally revealed itself, making Divale's blood run cold when he realized what it was. _Perfume. It's incredibly faint, but there's no mistake. That's-that's- orange peel and cloves! Oh dear Christ no!_

Slowly, a hand came into view at the tent entrance, wrapping around the interior of the flap, the finger bones cracking like knuckles. With his night vision, the frightened warlock could tell that the flesh was ghostly pale, maggots and worms wriggling over the decaying skin as they burrowed greedily into the meat. A bevy of them fell from the limb, showering the tent floor with their gorged loathsome bodies. The fingernails were ripped away, dried blood securing long wooden splinters that made them resemble the hairs on a spider. Covering most of the flesh was a layer of soil, the brown streaks looking like war paint. Once it secured its grip, the hand pulled and soon, the rest of the cadaver appeared before Aaron's wide eyes. The head was positively rotted on the top of the skull, whatever dark hair that once adorned it sparse and greasy from the deterioration. A pink ribbon almost on the verge of coming off hung limply behind the raggedy mess. It was wearing a white doctor's coat and a navy blue skirt, both stained with filth and soil. Three bullet holes could be found on the chest, the old blood still there. Two pairs of eyes, the color of emerald green long since faded, regarded him, triggering the mouth to smile a cold maniacal grin that wept yellow green ichor and yet more maggots and worms. “Ti ho cercato dappertutto il mio amore (I've been looking all over for you my love).” Lucretia cooed. Aaron's heart beat so fast and loud that it seemed like it was ready to explode. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Lucretia started to crawl towards him, trailing and crushing her tenants into carcass ridden slime. “Non c'è bisogno di spaventare Aaron. Ti riporterò a casa con me. Staremo insieme per sempre (There's no need to be frightened Aaron. I'm just going to take you back home with me. We're going to be together forever).”

Divale rose from his sleeping bag screaming at the top of his lungs. His eyes were wide open staring at the entrance to his tent, breathing heavily, his skin coated with fear sweat, his pants, the only piece of clothing he had on utterly soaked. Nothing remained of Lucretia, no scent of her dead body, her perfume, not even a speck of mashed maggot innards. _It was all a dream Aaron. Relax. Breath man._ The warlock's body started to just that, but he needed to make sure that everything was okay. Getting out of his soaked sleeping bag, he crawled to the tent flap and checked to see if it was really secured. He tested it twice and felt much better upon discovering that it was in fact closed completely. _That's a relief. Nothing else is going to happen again tonight._ Turning around he went back to his sleeping bag, the moisture strangely welcoming and started to lie back down, but before he could, the zipper to that exact same tent flap slowly started to move up. Whatever progress he made in calming himself down left Aaron's body in an instant and he scarcely breathed as he watched the terrifying sight. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, he sat there, fear paralyzing his arms and legs as the zipper reached the end of the line and the flap simply fluttered open. Whoever opened it burst into the tent, wasting no time in making its presence known. For the second time this night the warlock issued a bloodcurdling shriek as he saw Lucretia once more, yet this time looking much more alive, wearing the exact same clothes she wore the day she died. “No!” he yelled. Quickly, he reached under his pillow and pulled out one of his Torkerev's, cocking the hammer and pointing right at the woman. “You are fucking dead! I saw you in the casket when they buried you! You're not real! You can't be real! This is a dream! I'm dreaming!” he ranted, his right hand shaking so much that he could hear the muscles twitch.

“This is not a dream Aaron. This is very much real.” Juliette replied, coming into the tent proper and closing the flap behind her.

As she went about that task, the shock caused Aaron's grip on his pistol to slacken, the weapon falling from his hand and landing on his lap. _What a minute! That voice... it's not Lucretia's! That's-_ “Juliette?” he whispered once the witch sat down an arms length from his feet. “Why are you dressed like that? What's going on?”

“It's judgment day for you Aaron.” Deveraux stated. “We don't care how long it takes, but you are going to face the music.”

The look of anxiety that wracked Divale's face faded rapidly and was soon replaced with one of anger when he realized what she was talking about. “Get out Juilette!” he barked. “Get the fuck out of my tent right now!”

“I'm not going anywhere until you acknowledge what we want.” the witch countered, her voice showing no fear whatsoever.

Growling like a beast, the warlock got on his knees, his form towering over the Juliette and he shuffled towards her, eyes filled with rage. “That wasn't a request sergeant. You either get out, or I'll make you get out.” he warned through gritted teeth. His words seemed to have an effect and Deveraux began to shift her body around, but instead of retreating back to whence she came, the witch laid down on the ground. “This isn't funny Juliette! I'll throw your French ass out if I have to!” he bellowed.

“If you insist.” Deveraux dared, placing her right hand under her coat. Aaron heard a small pop and was about to ask what she was doing, but a large red spot started appearing all over her chest and was it getting bigger and bigger by the second. He almost convulsed as the memories came rushing back, going off like grenades in his mind. There she was on the dais bleeding and pleading for help that ignored her. There her eyes lit up when she saw the ring that he intended to give her. There she begs to him to not revert back to what he once was. There Hektor unloads this pistol into her back, once, twice, three times. Divale bit his lower lip hard, blood trickling from his jaw, trying to push the anguish out. Shaking his head violently from side to side and slapping himself on either side of his face, his psyche cleared enough for him to get his hands under Juliette's upper back and behind her knees. Closing his eyes so as to not look at her, he tried to lift her off the ground. Again, the past spun back at him. There she is on the beach asking for help. There he meets her again smiling right him at the messhall during the first day of his captivity. There he gently holds her cheek, healing the bruise the mugger gave her. There he holds her in his arms, doing his best not to cry when she got word of her transfer. There he is helping her make the pasta primavera. There he stands in the shower, hearing her confession of love. There he sees her lying next to him, sleeping like an angel.

Juliette watched in silence as she felt Aaron's arms and hands shake and silent tears fall from his face like waterfalls, the drops falling down on her crimson stained coat. _I won't back down. This is for your own good Aaron._ Then, he started to lean forwards, mewling, “I can't. I can't do it. Why God why can't I do it?” He brought his hands up to his face and covered his leaking eyes, his back arching backwards, causing his body to fall back onto the sleeping bag, the cold hard steel of the pistol pressing into his back. Deveraux took the opportunity to sit up and slide over closer to him. “Get away from me. Haven't you caused me enough pain tonight?” Divale wailed, turning away.

“Look at me Aaron.” the witch demanded. The warlock ignored her, weeping up a storm. “I said look at me Aaron!” he roared, grabbing him by the left arm and wrenching him to his back. Her green eyes met his bronze ones, orbs filled with sadness and terror.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Aaron asked pitifully.

“You know damn well why!” Juliette snapped back, letting go of his arm as if it were contaminated. “You've been standing at the edge of the abyss, staring down at it while saying 'Oh I'm fine. Everything's going to get better. I'll get help when I need it', but the thing is Aaron, you need to hit rock bottom for that to work! We're all sick and fucking tired waiting for you to climb down or plunge into that hole so we decided that, for your own damned good, we're pushing you off whether you like it or not! Do you remember what you looked like when I first saw you?” she pressed.

“Juliette I need you to-” Divale began to say, but Deveraux slapped him across the face with her right hand.

“Do you remember?!” she cried out, wiping her wet hand on her skirt. Aaron silently nodded, cradling his face with his hands. Juliette then reached into one of the lower left pockets of her coat and pulled out a small mirror. She held it in front of the warlock's face and harshly asked, “Did you look like this?!” Divale said nothing, his lips trembling. She shook her head, disappointment evident on her face. “Look at you Aaron. Just fucking look at you. You're pathetic. You're so pitiful right now that you make me sick just looking at you. What did you do to the man I knew back then? Where is he right now?”

“He's gone Juliette and he's not coming back.” Aaron replied.

“Bullshit he's gone!” Deveraux blurted. “He's only gone because you locked him away in a prison of your own fucking making you bastard! Why did you do that?! Are you somehow afraid of him?! Tell me!”

Divale had enough of the abuse and broke down. “Yes!” he screamed back at her. “I'm afraid of that side of me!” He then started to cry again, his chest heaving.

“Don't you fucking hide away from me! You think those tears are going to get to me?! Like they got to everybody else you've been lying to all your damn life?! Fucking think again! Tell me Aaron and tell the truth: Why are you afraid?!” the witch demanded.

Her words stopped the weeping and the warlock wiped his tears away with the back of his arm. “Because,” he croaked, “I don't deserve that man. He doesn't deserve to be a part of my life. I've been nothing but a worthless, useless, inferior excuse of a human being. Everyone I've known is dead or is suffering because I was too weak to protect them. It's all my fault. That's not me Juilette and it will never be.”

“How dare you lie to me!” the French witch countered. “How dare you even say such a thing after what you did for me and Amelie, for our people, for our country!”

“There were so many little things that could've gone wrong at any moment it's insane. If that boat's engine block went up before we cleared the Schelde, the whole thing would've ended up differently. That was plain luck nothing more. I felt that way then and I still do now.” Divale retorted.

“No matter what you say about yourself, the facts don't give two fucking shits about your feelings! You and Major Sakamoto fought your way to get to Verdun! You both rescued all of us and fought your way out of the bunker! You kept on going when we came to the lock and fixed that engine so it would last! That was not plain luck Aaron, that was sheer will and determination, two things that no worthless, useless, inferior excuse of a human being couldn't even begin to demonstrate! We all know exactly who you truly are! You are a hero and we have the evidence to back it up from here to doomsday!” Juliette shouted.

“So fucking what if I'm a hero?” the warlock spat out, finding his backbone. “What does it mean in the grand scheme of things?”

“Everything Aaron!” Deveraux replied vehemently. “Every time you deny who you are, it hurts us all! All the denials, all the humility, and all the so called giving credit where it is due feels like your spitting in our faces! It's insulting! You disrespect me, you disrespect the rest of us, you disrespect your friends, you disrespect everyone who's lived and died over the course of this war! You and I know damn well you shouldn't do such a thing, yet you keep on fucking doing it! Why?!”

The bluster that Aaron found turned to sand and he balled up his fists only to let them go back to normal a second later. He sighed deeply and stated, “It's the only way I know how to do things.”

The comment made Juliette furrow her brow for a moment and she got so close that she came within an inch of sitting in his lap. She searched his eyes and apparently found what she sought for they brightened up. “Now I see the problem.” she declared. “You're not just afraid of the real you, you're afraid of the consequences of becoming that person, of becoming well. Aren't you?”

Divale reluctantly nodded. “I've been living like this my whole life. As I said, this is the only way I know how to do things because it got me through it all. It's terrifying to me to think that there's a solution out there and that if I did take that route, what will happen to me? Will I change and will it be for the better? Would it cause me to treat people differently? Could I forget some things that make me me? All I have is my memories and don't want to let go of them. I'm scared to lose them.” he reasoned.

“Even if you do, there is always someone or something that will help you remember. Don't be afraid of change Aaron. It's what we do as human beings. It helps us grow and understand not just ourselves and others, but the world as a whole. You can't go your whole life thinking and doing one thing over and over. You can't rely on that forever because it will one day fail you and you'll be left behind.” Deveraux pointed out. She then waved her right arm at the tent entrance and remarked, “We had a meeting not too long ago. A lot of things were said and it all had to deal with you and how much you mean to us. For the past two months we haven't seen you live, we have hardly seen you smile. This isn't a life you're leading; you're doing nothing but dying in front of our eyes. This needs to stop. Even Marseilles agreed that something had to be done to help you recognize that. There was even some talk of people leaving. No one is happy right now because you're not happy.”

Another memory seared its way past Aaron's brain and several words echoed within his skull. _You need to promise me that, when I go, to not revert back to your old self. Don’t make my death an excuse to turn your heart into stone once again. Promise me that you won’t make yourself miserable on my account. You’re too good of a person to put yourself through that hell. Promise me Aaron! Promise me!_ “And I still lied to her.” he whispered. “Even as she lay dying.”

“And how does that make you feel?” the witch asked.

“Like I'm the lowest form of life on earth. Betraying not just a friend, but a woman that I'd willingly grow old with is unforgivable in my eyes.” Divale admitted.

“Are you tired of feeling that way? Of beating yourself up with booze, cigarettes, and vaginas?” Juliette inquired, smelling blood in the water.

“Yes.” Aaron replied.

“Are you tired of constantly sinking to your knees the moment you wake up every day, hoping against all hope that someone is going to raise you back up? And are you tired of falling prey to your emotions that seek to unravel you?” Deveraux queried.

“Correct.” Divale answered.

“So, by acknowledging those statements, you also admit that this isn't good for you and that you need a change?” the sergeant pressed home, holding out her right hand. The warlock looked at it and knew what she meant by it. He reached out to take it, but the witch whisked it away. A look of puzzlement came over his face and she explained, “We all need a support system to affect this change, a network where each part does everything it can to help. Despite the fact that Lucretia and your friends in the 501st tried to do the same thing, they failed. I have no idea about what you had in your old unit, but I'm willing to bet that they failed as well. Ever ask yourself why? Simple. You used them to just pick you up and ferry you from place to place. You put in no effort whatsoever to take what they were trying to do and apply it to your life. Now, we will all help you Aaron. I swear to God we will, but if we do, I need you to promise me and the rest that you will put in the work, that you will take this all to heart in the hopes that one day you will be able to stand on your own two feet long after we're gone. If you don't, there's no saving you. If you you really want to get better, stand up for yourself damn it.”

Aaron closed his eyes and breathed in deep. _She's absolutely right. I can't be afraid anymore. I can't hide behind the lies and half truths. It needs to end, for their sake and mine._ “I promise Juliette.” he intoned. “I will make an honest effort.”

Deveraux then reached into another coat pocket and rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a weirding stone. “I know you will.” she replied with a smile on her face.

*******************

A pair of hands carefully attached the last wires to the detonator, making sure the connections were tight. The interior of the low lying building in El Aghelia wasn't ideal, but it offered the best vantage point for what the neophyte had in mind. Most of the furniture of the room was pressed up against the door, creating a heavy bulwark that even a squad of men couldn't even begin to push away. _Even if they had to blast through, I have a way out anyway due to the vial. Jokes on them._ With another half twist, the last connection was made and she smiled. _Whatever that warlock thinks he's going to find in that bunker is going to be anything but. The men have their orders to set up the ambush and bog them down._ _Tomorrow is going to be a blast._

*******************

Explosions went off in the distance and each one made Marseilles that much happier as she looked at them through her binoculars. _That means less bunkers and more enemy air forces deployed which in turn pads my kill count. Wish they were a bit faster though._ Next to her, cruising several miles above the battlefield, was Raisa, Hanna, Elizabeth, and Aurora, all armed and ready to engage air and ground targets that threatened the operations below them. Everyone else was clearing the bunkers. Aaron, Amelie, and Juliette were hitting the center, the Peterborough's had the right, and Helga and Audie struck the left. The smoke of burning compounds was heavy and made it hard to get a good look at them without lowering altitude, something that the Lieutenant didn't want under any circumstances. To address that, she ordered all three of the teams to send constant updates. Aurora received everything from the left, Elizabeth the right, and Marseilles personally took center. Looking down at her watch, her face grew taut with concern for she knew that Montgomery was going to be ordering a massive artillery bombardment within the next twenty minutes. _Which means we are going to have to provide covering fire while they get out of there._ “What's the situation down there ladies?” she asked her radiomen. “Report.” The witches nodded and radioed their respective teams, asking for sitreps.

“Right has cleared everything up to D6. They've run out of charges so they're falling back to D8.” Beurling reported. “Captain Peterborough says that CAS will not be necessary. The fumes are providing more than enough cover. They're telling the general where they are now.”

“You're not going to believe this lieutenant, but left says they just got done with A3 and are asking for further instructions.” Juutilainen replied.

“Tell them to fall back to A5 and hold.” Marseilles instructed. While the Canadian did just that, she pressed the talk stud on her communicator and stated, “Lieutenant Divale, this is Lieutenant Marseilles. Give me a sitrep now. Over.”

A flurry of gunshots and exploding grenades rattled the German witch's eardrums as she heard Aaron bark out orders. “Burn the fuckers out Amelie! Cover my six Juliette!” The distinctive sounds of his machine gun, whooshing flames, and screaming echoed long after they were finished, filling her thoughts with images she didn't want there. “Sorry for the delay lieutenant. We were a little bit busy just then. We're up at B6 and just about done getting into the main munitions chamber. Five minutes tops. Over.”

“Try to go faster than that. General Montgomery may be punctual, but I'm not taking any chances. Get it down and fallback to B8. Marseilles out.” Hanna demanded. She made a move to cut the link, but decided against it. _They're the only ones in active combat. Need to keep this open._

“Which way now Aaron?” Deveraux asked.

“This type of bunker normally will have the munitions chamber almost directly under the gun emplacements so my gut's telling me through that passageway and past the door.” Divale answered. “Let's get moving. I don't want to be here when those shells start coming down.”

“Lead the way.” Planchard suggested. Marseilles listened intently as their footsteps pounded the concrete and fresh clips slammed home. “Is it just me or was this a little too easy?” she inquired warily.

“We've been doing a number on them all day. They probably didn't expect us to get this far which would explain why it's undermanned.” her friend remarked. “There's the door. Watch for traps Aaron.”

“Now that is a heavy bitch.” Aaron commented. “No problem. Stand back and keep an eye on those corners.” A massive bang was heard and something big gave with the shearing of metal and the cracking of concrete followed soon after by a clang. “What the fuck is this?” he pondered out loud, his tone indicating confusion.

“There nothing in here!” Amelie exclaimed.

“I don't like t-.” Juliette started to say, but the warlock interrupted her with statement that made Hanna's eyes widen.

“We've been had! Get behind me! Prepare for close quarters!” was all that Aaron managed to shout before the radio waves became saturated with gunfire, this fusillade much more potent than the last.

“We're surrounded!” Planchard yelled. “They've been waiting for us!”

“There's too many of them! We have to get out of here!” Deveraux bellowed.

“Punch through ladies, punch through! Give it everything you've got! Don't let up!” Divale roared over the din.

Marseilles immediate knew what to do. Thumbing down the volume, she turned to her fellow pilots and declared, “They're in trouble. We're heading to B6 for close air support on the double.” Veering hard to the left, the whole formation dove down through the rising black smoke. “Keep your eyes peeled for fighters and AA. You see anything that isn't us, you shoot it. Understand?” Not even waiting for the affirmations, Hanna turned the volume back up on her communicator.

“I think there's an opening!” Amelie pointed out.

“I see it! Focus fire on that point in three, two, one, fire!” Aaron ordered. Bullet after bullet was fired, the rounds ejecting from the barrels so fast that it sounded like one continuous stream.

“I see daylight! I'm pushing! We're leaving ladies!” Divale proclaimed. “Move! Move! Move!” The witch squinted in pain as the acrid fumes stung her eyes for a moment before dispersing, revealing the war torn earth. Bodies lined the outermost defenses of the bunkers from both sides, craters from heavy weapons evident. Marseilles vision darted back and forth, looking for threats.

“See anything?” she asked Pottgen.

“Not a thing.” the pilot officer replied. “They were quite thorough.”

_At least this makes it relatively easy. Hold on just a few more moments._

“I'll hold them back! You and Amelie get to the entrance and wait for me!” Aaron blurted as he fired his weapon again. The sound of running came and went as more rounds were fired, followed by the hard screeching ricochets as the enemy's shots no doubt plinked of his wings. Marseilles turned her attention to what was in front of her. As they all passed over a ruined AA emplacement, she could finally see the entrance to the bunker. Quickly, Hanna reached for her binoculars and looked through them. Squinting and adjusting the focus, she could make out the two distinct shapes of the French witches as they ran for their lives. One of them suddenly fell down causing the other to turn around and try to help them. “I've got Amelie! Just run Juliette. Run!” Divale called out as his massive bulk came into view, his wings splayed out behind him in an effort to protect them all.

“Alright everyone start fanning out. I want a secure perimeter. Nothing gets in without being challenged.” Marseilles instructed. Sergeant Deveraux was now slightly past the threshold and saw the rest of the squadron making their way towards her. She waved up at them and Hanna waved back. “Sergeant Deveraux, I want you to-”

The rest of what the lieutenant wanted to say would remain forever a mystery as the front of the bunker suddenly vanished in a massive ball of fire, the blast sending concrete slabs as thick as tree trunks up into the air, prompting the flight to stop what they were doing and simply look on in stunned silence. Her hands went slack and the binoculars fell from her grasp to the world below. _What the hell happened?! What's going on?! Where did that come from?!_ “Sergeant Deveraux, do you read me?! Come in sergeant! Over!” Marseilles screamed into her communicator. Nothing returned in reply on the French witch's end, not even static. _Oh shit! Please don't tell me they're all dead! Please God no!_ Regarding the rest of her command, she barked, “Don't fucking stand there and fucking find them! Now!” Turning to face Raisa, she added, “Keep trying to raise them! Anyone! You hear me?!”

“Lieutenant Marseilles, this is General Montgomery. We're seeing a massive explosion in B6. It was our understanding that Lieutenant Divale's team was not to destroy that compound. What happened? Over.” the general suddenly transmitted over the comms.

“I'm on the scene right now with the rest of my command general and I'm still trying to figure it out. The team told me that there were no munitions inside for the main batteries, but once one of my men came out, something caused the place to go up. Over.” Hanna hastily replied, watching her pilots scour the area for signs of survivors, the smoke gradually dissipating.

“What's the condition of the team? Over.” Montgomery inquired, clearly scared of what the answer could be.

“I've yet to get confirmation, but I fear that we have at least one KIA. Over.” the lieutenant admitted sadly, doing her best to hold back tears.

“Understood. Do your best Lieutenant Marseilles to find them. I'll hold off the bombardment for as long as you need me to complete the search and cas evac. Montgomery out.” the general replied.

Hanna killed the link and wiped her eyes clear with the back of her right hand. The ruined fortification was now fully visible, the place all but rubble, destroyed by some mysterious force. “Rai! Do you see them?! Can you raise them?!'” she bellowed.

Her friend put up her right hand for quiet as she listened intently over her comms. “I have something, but its very weak. It's coming from-” she started to explain, but just then a large slab of rock started to move on its own upwards, tilting on a strange axis. Tense seconds went by until it passed the point of no return, crashing to the ground with a puff of dust. Underneath the stone, shining like a white gold flower that had yet to bloom, were the wings of Aaron. Slowly, they opened revealing the warlock, holding a relieved and alive Amelie.

“Are you alright?” Aaron asked the witch, checking her over for injuries.

“Yes, I think so.” Planchard answered. Then she gasped and looked around, searching for something. “Where's Juliette?! Aaron do you see her?!” she queried, her voice on the verge of breaking from terror.

“You go right, I'll go left.” Divale suggested, looking up at the rest of the squadron as they gazed down on them both. Despite the distance, his eyes saw that they each had sad faces, their vision focusing on a certain point in the direction where he was about to go. _Not good._ Steeling himself for what he would probably find, he rose up, gingerly stepping around the debris field.

Amelie practiced no such precaution, jumping like a kangaroo from stone to stone, hands cupped to her mouth calling out for Deveraux. “Juliette! Can you hear me?! Where are you?! Say something! Juliette!” she roared. The strain was so great that her voice sounded like it would go, but she didn't stop. As the seconds went by without a reply, her mind went to dark places. _Please let her be safe. She has to be alright. She's got to be. Where are you?_ Tears of frustration and fear fell down her face and she looked behind her, seeing if Aaron had found her. She found him standing completely still near a small mound of rubble, staring down with an expressionless face. He then moved slightly out of view, crouching down. Terror gripped the French witch's heart and she started scrambling towards him. _He's found her! He's found-_ Divale rose from his haunches, his right hand bloody and holding something that twinkled in the sun. As Planchard got closer, her feet became leaden as she realized what he was holding. _Dog tags. Oh no, no, no, NO!_ She leapt off the last rock and made a move to sidestep the warlock, but he simply put out his left arm and grabbed her firmly, stopping her advance. “Let go of me!” she cried as she struggled to free herself.

“Tu n’iras pas là-bas (You're not going over there).” he stated.

“S’ll vous plaît Aaron! S’ll vous plaît, laissez-moi la voir (Please Aaron! Please let me see her)!” Amelie begged, her voice cracking with grief.

Divale then placed both his hands on her shoulders and shook her once, making her look up at him. “Il n’y a rien à voir Amelie. Elle est partie (There's nothing to see Amelie. She's gone).” he explained, sadness in his bronze orbs.

The floodgates burst and Planchard's legs gave out, but the warlock maintained his grip and lowered the both of them gently onto the ground. The witch buried her face into his chest and bawled, her hands nearly tearing the front of his uniform off from the despair. “Nooooooo! No! Not Juliette! Not her too!” she sobbed. Aaron knelt there and held her tightly in his arms, maintaining his silence as she wept. He took one last look at where he found her remains and closed his eyes, picturing Deveraux one last time in his mind. Her words from last night rang like church bells at mass. _Now, we will all help you Aaron. I swear to God we will, but if we do, I need you to promise me and the rest that you will put in the work, that you will take this all to heart in the hopes that one day you will be able to stand on your own two feet long after we're gone. If you don't, there's no saving you. If you you really want to get better, stand up for yourself damn it._ “She wasn't supposed to die here.” Amelie croaked out through tear soaked fabric. “She was supposed to live. She was supposed to see.”

Divale placed a tender hand underneath the witch's chin and tilted her head up so that she could see him. “She will see Amelie; it's just going to be from a different perspective. That's all.” he remarked with a single tear flowing down his left cheek. He then brought around his right hand, the bloodstained dog tags dripping the random crimson drop onto the sand. “Did she have any family?” he asked.

“I don't know. She never really talked about them.” Planchard confessed. “Maybe.”

“If she does, they deserve to know.” the warlock responded, placing them into Amelie's left hand.

**************

The debriefing room was dead silent, reflecting not just the loss of one of their own, but the uneasiness over what was said last night. Marseilles felt it the most, but still held her head high despite the crushing weight. Pottgen was right by her side as always as she stood there at the podium, ready to give the after action reports. As she scanned the room, her eyes fell upon Planchard who sat between two empty chairs, looking like the loneliest person in the entire world, her blue eyes rimmed red from crying. Hanna's heart ached to see her like that. _Losing someone that close hurts. I know that feeling very well. Furuko... Keiko..._ The sight also reminded her that since coming back from the front, Aaron hadn't been seen by anyone except Amelie who simply told them that he had to 'take care of a few things'. The lieutenant looked down at her watch and grew uneasy. _Normally, he's the first one in here. He's got two minutes before we get this underway. What could he possibly be doing?_ “Should I go looking for him?” Raisa asked, noting the concern on her friend's face.

“He's never missed a single meeting. He'll be here.” Hanna answered. No sooner did she say that, the door to the room opened. “It's about ti-” she started to say, but the moment her blue eyes saw who it was, the sight took her breath away. It was Aaron Divale for sure, but something had changed. His hair was still long, but was now trimmed, the dead ends lopped off and his face was clean shaven. However, the thing that held the German witch in awe was the warlock's eyes. Instead of simply glowing like dying candle lights, they now burned with the fury of twin suns.

Aaron slowly looked at everyone who by now were witnessing what their commanding officer beheld, all just as speechless. When his gaze went over the empty chair to the left of Amelie, he thought that he saw Juliette sitting there, staring right back at him with those emerald green eyes full of happiness at seeing him like this. _I keep my promises._ “You're right.” he stated with the biggest smile he ever made since coming to North Africa. “It is time. Miss me?” For a few seconds, no one could say a word until Helga stood up from her seat and started clapping in approval. One by one, the whole squadron stood and applauded Divale as he walked down to the empty seat to Amelie's right and sat down, smiling all the while. The moment he planted himself down, the witch gave him a quick hug. The warlock then regarded Marseilles who looked down at him from the podium. At first her face was a blank canvas, but even her feelings on the matter began to show as a small smile materialized.

“Yes we did Lieutenant Divale. Yes we did.” Hanna replied.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 31st is relocated to the westernmost regions of North Africa and meets up with the Allied fleet. General Patton informs that they are to aid Operation Torch to the fullest. Plans are made, words are said, and plots are hatched.

_ **Chapter XVIII: Lighting The Torch** _

_I have never felt so alive in all my life. It's like I've been born again, ready to face the world with a new perspective. This time, I'm never falling down again. I will be fearless, proud, and strong._

Diary Entry July 1st 1944

Amelie did her best not to look down as she held on to Aaron for dear life. They were cruising barely a mile up from the blue ocean below them, but she was completely terrified. _I never like fucking heights and I never will damn it._ Divale gave her right elbow a reassuring squeeze and commented, “You should honestly be used to this by now. After all, you've been traveling like this for a week.” Planchard gave him a cringey smile and just snuggled her head into his left shoulder blade, grumbling all the while. Resisting the urge to shrug or chuckle, the warlock took a deep breath and looked at the Atlantic for the first time in months. _Hello there old friend. How are you this fine sunny day?_ As he waited for a reply that he knew would never come, his mind focused on locating their destination.

Almost immediately after the debriefing, Air Commander Neumann informed them that contact with the American's had finally been established through a newly constructed comms network. They were asking for reinforcements to aid them in something called Operation Torch and make all due haste towards the coordinates provided. While in the dark as to what it was or entailed, Edytha presumed that it involved the possibility of a second front opening up. The air commander also made it clear that Rommel and Montgomery both felt it prudent that she would join them in this expedition. When asked where they would link up with the rest of their allies, the witch answered that they would let us know when they got there. Recognizing the importance of such a thing, as well as the fame gained by helping the endeavor succeed, Lieutenant Marseilles jumped at the chance, but made it clear that they would first pay respects to Deveraux before they departed. While extremely courteous, the ceremony felt rushed, which didn't sit well with Ameile or Aaron for that matter, but they begrudgingly accepted it. They set out that night and made numerous stops and layovers in Sicily, Corsica, Southern France, Northern Spain, and Southern Portugal while on route to their rendezvous. Throughout that time, Aaron had made very good strides in improving his mental health, making everyone feel better about what they did. He also ferried Amelie the entire way and occasionally tormented her with a reverse aileron roll. _If you can't have fun at your friend's expense, you're not being a good friend._

His eyes wandered to the rest of the squadron. Beurling held Audie and Helga in either hand, Rudel was charged with Edmund and Wilma, and Pottgen guided Aurora. Neumann was in the center while Marseilles as usual was at the very front, peering through her binoculars. Increasing his speed, Divale moved up through the formation and quickly matched his superior's position on her left. The action drew a sideways glance and the German muttered, “You should be minding the rear lieutenant. We could get taken there and then what will you have to say for yourself?”

“We'd get word from Gibraltar if there's anything incoming.” the warlock politely pointed out. “That and my eyes are just as good if not better than any binos.”

“If they are, use them.” Hanna replied, putting her binoculars away and veering off to the right.

Planchard watched her go and whispered in Aaron's ear, “You'd think she'd be happy to get relieved from watch duty.”

“That's her pride talking.” Aaron responded, panning his head from right to left. “Marseilles doesn't like being the second to find out if you know what I mean.”

“Gloryhounding.” Amelie spat out. “No wonder you've been given those shit assignments. She thinks you'd overshadow her if you were front and center.”

“Jokes on her though,” Divale countered with a sly grin, “I'm just as famous here as I am in France and that's saying a lot. Not bad for someone who hates the press and isn't the most handsome guy around.”

“Yet he's still fucking a soccer star.” Planchard observed. She thought about it for a second and asked, “How is Tatiana by the way?”

 _Don't really know. With everything that's happened, I've been to busy to drop her a line._ “She's bound to be doing well.” Aaron answered.

The witch stuck a finger on his nose and gently squished it. “I think you should get a better report than lieutenant. That's an order.” she instructed.

“Alright. Alright. I'll talk to her when we get there.” Divale stated with a groan. _Sheesh! Be all up in my business why don't you?_ Ignoring the rebuke, he continued to look at the horizon, scanning for whatever it was he was supposed to find. Suddenly, he saw a few gray figures stick out on the water line. _Surface ships. Look's like we found our-_ His mind went blank as something very strange occurred. More and more figures started appearing the closer he came going from a few blots, to formations, full task groups, it just kept getting bigger and bigger. In addition, dark vees appeared above the whole ensemble, clear indication of planes or witches out on patrol. _That's not a fleet nor even an armada. That's a fucking atoll with a plague of seagulls._ His right hand trembled with pure awe as he radioed, “Lieutenant Marseilles, this is Lieutenant Divale. I've found them. Repeat, I've found them. It's the fleet. Grid reference E9. Over.”

“Good work lieutenant. Have you established contact? Over.” Hanna inquired.

“Not yet, but...” Divale started to say, but his words simply trailed off.

“Please repeat your last message lieutenant.” the witch demanded.

“I'm very lieutenant, but you need to see this for yourself. Bearing one o clock low.” the warlock apologized. Curious, the lieutenant put her binos to her face and her jaw dropped upon viewing what Aaron had described.

“Heilige Scheiße (Holy shit)!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of Raisa and Edytha. “Werfen Sie einen Blick darauf (Take a look at that)!” Her compatriots did the same and the reaction was for the most part very similar.

Despite the awe inspiring sight, Neumann regained her composure the fastest. “Looks like Americans got some aid from somewhere.” she observed.

“From who?” Pottgen queried. “Could it be the Japanese?”

“If so, their aid is most welcome. They do have one of the biggest navies in the world.” Edytha reminded.

“I've established contact with the fleet. Patching it to you Hanna.” Aaron quickly messaged over the comms.

Suddenly, Marseilles ears were filled with sounds of a gravely voice. “Attention 31st JFS Afrika! This is General George Patton aboard the Yamato of the Imperial Japanese Navy and you are all a sight for sore eyes. Welcome to the biggest fleet you're ever going to lay eyes on. Please descend to five hundred feet and maintain course. Over.” the general announced.

“Copy that general. Marseilles out.” Hanna replied, killing the link and setting up another with Aaron. “You hear that Lieutenant Divale?” she inquired.

“Indeed lieutenant. Decreasing altitude to required level now.” the warlock stated There was a brief pause before he added, “Guess what time it is Amelie?”

“Don't you fucking d-” Planchard began to say, but Aaron cut her out with a loud yell.

“Aileron roll!” he roared over the very vocal protestations of his charge. Thankfully, Marseilles killed the link, but she could still hear the French witch screaming her head off and shouting what she was pretty sure were curse words in her native language.

“Follow the leader.” Hanna announced and proceeded to dive, albeit less enthusiastically than the warlock. The rest of the squadron followed suit, accelerating until they hit five hundred feet and leveled off. Eyes went wide and heads whipped around this way and that as the fleet came up close and personal. Over them, P51 Mustangs and A6M5 Zeros buzzed around like angry wasps looking for trouble. Witch squadrons mingled with the fighters, the distinctive white the Japanese and the hodge-podge assortment of color from the American's providing a swirling mass of variety. All the activity produced a veritable spiders web of contrails. They quickly came into the outer destroyer task group nets, the smaller escorts swarming around their flotilla leaders. Though they had been tagged as friendly, barrel after barrel from AA emplacements tracked their every move. Next came the cruiser task groups, their sleek forms cutting through the water like knives. In her head, Marseilles counted the vessels. _One hundred, one fifteen, one thirty, how many ships do they have?_ Buzzing past, the witch craned her next and saw a collection of carriers scattered here and there, flanked by the floating fortresses that were called battleships. If they were higher up the whole spectacle would like some ancient castle with the carriers the walls and the battleships the battlements. However, she spotted two out of the corner of her eye that dwarfed them all, a pair of glistening citadels that lorded over all they beheld. They were absolute monsters, each one sporting three main turrets along with ten secondary batteries of six and five inch guns. Counting each barrel that they sported, it was a mind numbing thirty three main battle cannons and secondary batteries in all and that wasn't including AA defenses. _That amount of firepower could obliterate any ship in the world in a matter of moments! How in the hell did they fit that many guns on that hull without it sinking?!_

“Make for the one on the left.” Edytha suggested on her comms to Aaron, pointing at the vessel. “I can see that old Bandito right now there.” The warlock acknowledged the order with a simply shift in direction towards the Yamato. Following him in, decelerating and lowering altitude, the squadron weaved around the front of the ship, calmly swooping past the command tower. Once they cleared the mountain of metal, two figures could be seen on a small section of clear deck space, looking up at them and waving. Divale landed first, gently setting Amelie down on the deck, a look of pure relief on her face. The rest of the flight followed within seconds. Once the last pair of legs found purchase, the two strangers walked up to them.

The first was a 6'2” older man, probably near his sixties, wearing the traditional green uniform of the American military with three silver stars on his shoulders. His green helmet was highly polished, reflecting the sun so much that some of them had to squint and he also wore brown leather riding breeches and high cavalry boots of black leather, clearing indicating that he was an avid horse rider. Blue eyes regarded them with a stern gaze, nothing soft at all in them. Most peculiar of all was the two ivory handled silver plated revolvers that he had tucked in his front pockets for the hammers were at half cock. Next to him was a much shorter Japanese man, almost a full foot shorter in fact, the three silver embroidered stars of an admiral on his collar surrounded by a yellow background. The rest of the uniform was a dark blue with some yellow piping along the chest. A black hat sat upon his head, the symbol of the Imperial lotus over a gilt anchor and feathers twinkling in the sunlight with every step he took. When they got close enough, the admiral respectfully bowed and stated with warmth, “I'm Admiral Yamamoto of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Welcome to the Yamato, flagship of the Japanese Expeditionary Force. You honor us with your presence.”

The general's reaction was much less ceremonial and he quickly shook Neumann's hand. “It's damn good to see you Edytha. How's Monty and the new guy doing?” he said.

“Montgomery is still Montgomery and General Rommel has proven to be instrumental to our success General Patton. It's good to see you too.” the air command replied with sincerity.

Patton then switched his attention to Lieutenant Marseilles and he remarked, “Your squadron flew wonderfully lieutenant. Hopefully, they can do the same in combat.”

Hanna countered, “We fly hard and hit hard general. You can count on us.”

“Damn good to hear.” the general replied. He then proceeded to go down the line, talking to and shaking the hands of each squadron member in turn. When he got to Audie, he paused and smiled. “It's good to see a familiar face isn't it lieutenant?” he asked.

Murphy gave a sharp salute and responded, “Sir! Yes indeed general sir!”

“At ease son.” George instructed as he walked past. He then finally got to Aaron and gently tilted his neck upwards and looked into his eyes. “It's not very often I get to look up to someone around here.” he commented, extending his hand.

“Likewise general.” Divale replied warmly, taking the American by the hand and shaking it. “If I didn't know any better, those guns and that attire would make me think I'm looking at a cavalry officer.”

“I was indeed in my youth before tanks became the future.” Patton explained. As he walked away, he quickly whipped around on his heels and emphatically announced, “I asked for all of you because I heard from Air Commander Neumann that you were the best and I only accept the best. If you perform like the people the papers say you are, we'll kick these bastards in the teeth and send them crying back to their mothers back at Tunis in no time.” He gestured to Yamamoto who in turn looked up at the command tower and raised his left arm up and down twice. A large clunk was heard underneath their feet and soon the entire section of deck they were standing on started descending into the bowels of the ship. All looked around in wonder as the massive lift went down, exposing their eyes to a small yet efficient hanger bay. Three scout planes, their wings folded up over the fuselage, lay off to the right side, while ten sets of Strikers were on the right. A small ways away from the elevator were two large tables. The first had three chairs while the second had eleven, with the three seater in front of the other. As they went down, Patton reached into his uniform and pulled out a sealed folder. Hanna held out her right hand, expecting the general to hand it over to her, but strangely, he gave it to Edytha. Marseilles silently fumed and did her best to not turn various shades of red. _How dare he! I'm in command of the squadron, not her!_

With a small bump, the lift came to a stop. “Please be seated.” Yamamoto instructed. “We'll get this meeting underway shortly.” The three senior officers traveled together towards the front table, the general and admiral each pulling out more folders from their inside of their uniforms. The rest of the ensemble sat down willy nilly at the table, Hanna and Raisa in the center. Aaron sat down at the far right end, still taking a look around this improvised meeting room. _We have a lot of gantries and bulkhead doors leading to fuck knows where. This thing is even more massive on the inside than outside. Would be nice to explore. Strange that there's no personnel around. Maybe they were told to vacate when we got here._

The triumvirate soon seated themselves and General Patton started things off while Air Commander Neumann opened her folder and started perusing it's contents. “What you are all soon to be a part of is perhaps the largest amphibious assault ever attempted in the history of war. Starting at 0500 tomorrow morning, we will begin Operation Torch, where our objective is to take key positions in our attempt to create a second front. This will force the enemy into a two front war that they will be unable to win. I wish to stress that this will not be as straight forward as I'm making this sound. Operation Torch will have three key components that we each will discuss in turn. Any questions you have will be answered directly.” he stated. Taking a glance over at Edytha, he asked, “Are you ready to begin air commander?”

“Yes general.” Edytha replied, closing the folder and setting it off to the side. “Before I begin, I wish to inform you of some fantastic news. Rommel and Montgomery have officially entered Tunisia and are making good headway. They both expect to be at the Mareth Line within the next thirty six hours. Round of applause for a job well done.” She paused, contributing to the chorus of hands clapping against each other for a good thirty seconds before silently asking for calm with a stern look. Once the room quieted down again, Neumann continued, “The first part of the operation will involve sending a team to Gibraltar. That site has major strategic importance for it commands the interior Europe side of the strait and can sweep almost fifteen miles with its powerful batteries. Ever since the retreat, various British units that found themselves on the wrong side of things fled to the fortress, strengthening its defenses and enlarging the preexisting tunnel networks in preparation for a possible enemy attack on the mainland. In addition, several more coastal defense networks were established in secret at Algeciras and Tarifa. All three of these locations will aid us in crossing the strait.”

“How big is this team going to be air commander?” Aurora inquired. “It sounds like this will take quite a bit of our people.”

“Not necessarily.” Neumann countered. “The enemy has not ventured much past Ceuta for some time. For the past two months, they have been attacking Gibraltar with air units and conducted numerous amphibious assaults. Each has been repelled and the guns are still fully operational, but the human cost has been severe. At the end of the evacuations, there were thirty thousand British troops. By the time the fleet got here, they were down to four thousand. Our esteemed hosts have since reinforced the garrison, bringing up the grand total to ten thousand. At most we will require probably no more than two maybe three.”

“Have we gotten any support or aid from the outside?” Aaron asked. “Has there been any goodwill from Portugal, Spain, France, or Italy?”

“The Italians have sent supplies, but in terms of manpower they've been concentrating more on island hopping operations in the Eastern Mediterranean. There were plans to have the newly created 506th JFW in France to be sent over, but given their relative inexperience, such an action was denied. As for Spain and Portugal, the two seem to be at complete loggerheads with the United Kingdom. Something about the legal sovereignty of Gibraltar no doubt. However, Portugal has agreed to offer temporary basing rights in Lisbon to British witch squadrons that have been sent to provide some much needed relief. A total of five have been sent, the most recent being the 610th RAF just last week.” Edytha answered.

A sharp gasp came from Wilma who stood up from her chair and exclaimed, “That's my sister's squadron! Is she alive?! Has there been any wo-”

“Communications from Gibraltar have been sporadic at best due to enemy interference. We have no idea concerning the condition of your sister Wilma. I'm sorry.” the German witch interrupted as politely as she could. From her table, she sympathized with her, watching her husband hold her close as she started to cry into his chest. “We fully expect the enemy to launch another attack at or around sunrise, so the Gibraltar team will be dispatched a full hour early as to get their bearings. Any further questions?” Not a peep was heard save for a few sniffles from the Peterborough section. “I will now turn the table over to Admiral Yamamoto.”

The admiral nodded and looked over the group with his piercing dark brown eyes. “The fleet you have seen while coming here has been carefully assembled for the task at hand. Overall, one hundred and sixty ships are poised to force their way across the strait at 0500 tomorrow. Not all the ships will be leaving with us as their presence is part of the third part of the plan.” he began.

“Will they be able to support the defense of Gibraltar?” Wilma asked, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes.

“Not at the onset,” Yamamoto replied, “but the possibility exists. Once the fleet enters the strait, we expect heavy resistance from the enemy fleet.”

A series of puzzled looks and hushed whispers went back and forth between the members of the 31st. Out of the commotion, Marseilles stood up and inquired, “Enemy fleet? According to my reports, the enemy has nothing of the sort. Where did it come from?”

“We discovered this hidden dagger the hard way. Two months ago we sent a small light cruiser flotilla under cover of darkness through the strait to gather intelligence on the coastal defenses of Tangiers. Despite their best efforts to run silent, they were attacked. Regrettably, only three vessels returned. Piecing together the debriefings, we believe it was stationed at Oran or Algiers, keeping close to the coast as to prevent them being discovered by observers at Gibraltar. Where it came from originally or how many we're dealing with, we still have no clue. Considering the damage the surviving vessels sustained, we concluded that this defense fleet has considerable firepower.” the admiral answered. He then took the folder that Edytha had set aside and opened it. “The flotilla also managed to get a few pictures during the fighting. You are the first people outside of naval intelligence to see these.” he explained, getting up from his seat. He calmly walked to the table and set the folder down in from of Hanna. The lieutenant quickly opened it, breezing by page after page before coming to what the admiral mentioned. There were seven photographs in all, each depicting a neuroified warship. The rest of the squadron gathered around looking at them with a mixture of fear and wonder.

Aaron took one cursory look over one of them, a picture of a large ship though considerably smaller than the one he was on. A feature of the vessel made him furrow his brow. _That design is old. Like Great War old. Still, it has a false bow and torpedo bulges. Such an odd little-_ Revelation dawned on him like a morning sun. “I'll be God damned!” he exclaimed loudly, drawing everyone's attention to him. “That's the Parizhskaya Kommuna, the flagship of the Russian Black Sea fleet!”

“Are you sure?” Yamamoto queried, very curious and excited at the same time.

“Absolutely sure.” Divale affirmed. “I'd recognize that Great War dreadnought design anywhere. That and the false bow and torpedo bulges here and here are a dead give away.”

“How would you know that this is the Parizhskaya Kommuna?” Marseilles retorted.

The warlock shot her an acid glare and muttered, “I was there when she sank along with the rest of the fleet at Sevastopol back in '40.”

Wasting no time, the Japanese admiral placed the photos back in the folder and produced a pen from his pocket. “Do you remember how many ships?” he asked.

“Including that battleship, there would be six cruisers, nineteen destroyers, fifteen multi purpose vessels, and eighty four torpedo boats, not including fuel tenders, supply ships, and transports.” Aaron recollected.

“One hundred and twenty five ships in all.” Raisa muttered. She had a quick think about it and pressed, “If they had enough reach to get the entirety of that fleet, do you think that they could've scooped up anything from the Romanians, Greeks, or even the French?”

“That detail cannot be overlooked.” Yamamoto agreed, finishing his notes on the back of the folder. Regarding the lieutenant, he queried, “How many would that be?”

Divale rubbed his temples with either hand and breathed in deep. “Tack on an additional fifty, give or take.” he suggested.

“So we're quite possibly outnumbered, but far from outgunned.” Marseilles commented with a grin. “With the firepower at our disposal, we'll crush them like ants.”

“What they lack in guns they more than make up in AA defense.” Aaron cautioned. “I saw them reap an incredible toll on the Neuroi before going under. Approaching them from above isn't going to be easy.”

“I'm sure we'll manage just perfectly fine lieutenant.” Rudel stated.

“This information will definitely help us get what we need accomplished tomorrow Lieutenant Divale.” the admiral declared, putting his pen away. “Thank you very much. I'll disseminate this to the rest of the fleet as soon as we are done.”

“Your welcome.” the warlock replied, noting his superior's not so happy face out of the corner of his eye.

“With that, I turn the table over to the honorable General Patton.” Yamamoto stated after he got back to his chair and sat down.

“Thank you admiral.” the general thanked. He stood up from his seat and folded his hands behind his back. “Even taking away the troops we used to reinforce Gibraltar, we still have over one hundred thousand men. According to our intelligence, they have roughly one hundred twenty five thousand. Composition is split fifty fifty in regards to the Neuroi. They are concentrated around Tangiers for obvious reasons and that coastline is heavily fortified. To counter this, we're going to bamboozle the sons of bitches into making several key mistakes. At 0500, we're going to launch a diversionary amphibious assault at Casablanca and other key locations around that area after we bomb and bombard the bastards into the Stone Age. The enemy's strength there isn't as formidable and we'll use a quarter of our force to punch through them like shit through a goose and secure the beaches. We fully expect the foe to react to this by moving personnel from Tangiers to try to stall us at the Sebou River.”

“What makes you think that they won't pull forces from elsewhere general? Perhaps via rail from Meknes or little pockets north of the landing zones?” Murphy asked.

“Our aircraft will destroy those rail lines in their entirety at those crucial junctures.” Patton answered. “Those pockets you're worrying about, if they do exist, won't be as deep as you think. We'll deal with them if they dare stick their asses out. After that, it's a waiting game as our fleet sinks the enemy ships. Once a perimeter is established, the second wave of landings will commence at two beaches at either end of the city. Again, this will be preceded by a massive bombardment of those sites and Tangiers as a whole. Any further questions?” When none came, he nodded and remarked, “Now, me and the admiral are going to leave you folks to divvy up your squadron as you see fit. See you on the battlefield and try to leave some for us when we link up with you. I don't like being bored.” With that, the two officers got up and left, taking a door at the other side of the room to Lord knows where. Hanna and Pottgen got up and sat down in the vacated seats.

Smoothing out her uniform top, Marseilles took a deep breath and looked at her unit. “This isn't an easy decision for me to make people. If I had my rathers, I'd keep you all together in one place. I hate the idea of splitting us up, especially after what happened recently.” she began. The lieutenant paused for a few seconds, clearly thinking about all possible combinations and consequences. Neumann took a cursory glance at her subordinate, her brow furrowed in worry. The contemplating witch took notice and snapped, “I've got this Edytha!”

“I never said you didn't.” the air commander calmly replied.

The comment mollified the immediate tension, but barely. “Those being sent to Gibraltar will be Captain Juutilainen and Lieutenant Divale, with the captain in full command.” Marseilles decided.

“Lieutenant Marseilles,” Wilma emphatically stated, “I wish to also go with the captain and lieutenant.”

The German witch's rebuke was hard and immediate. “Denied.”

Wilma tried to get another word in, but Edytha preempted that by uttering, “I'm countermanding that order.”

Marseilles shot her a mean look and her fists balled up in anger. Raisa quickly added, “If you had a sister, what would you-”

“I'd tell the stupid bitch to stop getting stuck in places where she doesn't belong!” Hanna growled, cutting off the pilot officer.

“Are you that heartless?!” Edmund shouted, getting up from his chair. “Family protects family!”

“And at what cost to you or the rest of us huh?!” Hanna roared.

Peterborough wasn't intimidated. “I don't care!”

“Enough!” Neumann shouted, slamming her hands flat on the table. After the room went dead silent for a moment or two, she stated, “Sergeant Peterborough is going to Gibraltar as well.”

Marseilles grumbled, but nodded. Staring at Aaron, she inquired, “Can you handle two?”

“After hearing about his exploits at Bordeaux, he most certainly can.” Helga pointed out. The whole room erupted into cat calls and ooh la las as the warlock's eyes widened at the sheer boldness of the act.

“Did they have full kit on there Aaron?” Elizabeth asked, giggling up a storm.

Divale gently turned in his seat and pointed a single finger on his right hand at the pair. “Now you listen here you little shits.” he remarked.

“Answer the fucking question lieutenant.” Hanna rumbled.

“Yes I can.” the warlock responded, making himself as small as he could in his chair with very little success.

“Alright. As for the aiding the fleet it will be me, Pilot Officer Pottgen, Air Commander Neumann, Colonel Rudel, and Lieutenant Beurling. Once the fleet gets into position, we're to assist in CAS at the beaches. That now leaves us with the landings. I'm splitting this the easy way: the gentlemen are in one boat and the ladies are in another.” Marseilles explained. Von Kreiger didn't like what she heard and got up, ready to protest the decision. “Before you say anything lieutenant, the answer is no. I've already compromised far too much already.” she commented, a look of annoyance on her face. She then gave Neumann a sideways glance and added, “Unless of course, someone has a different point of view.” Helga looked over at Edytha with a pleading look, but the witch said nothing, not so much as stirring a muscle all the while. “Then it's decided then. You all have your assignments so be sure to gear yourselves up accordingly. You all have free time until then. Dismissed.”

****************

The fire crackled on the dark bunker floor, the light from the flames casting weaving shadows along the concrete walls. With spear in hand, Matilda stood at attention, watching the men and Neuroi at Tangiers redeploy into defensive positions as the sun started to descend over the horizon. The coordination made her smile with pride, the effort shown a true example of facing down an enemy that is hell bent on breaking them. However, that grin was false, a simple cover to try to convey some feeling to others that their activities would mean a damn. The words of the mistress played through her mind again for the umpteenth time. _I feel that the tides fortune have left for good my dear. The loss of Delos was a blow that we cannot hope to recover from. From this point on, we're only going to get weaker and weaker. The war is over. Though your determination and loyalty is much appreciated my child, will and will alone won't alter the final outcome. All we can do is buy enough time._ A gust of wind picked up from the sea and flowed into the bunker, making her hair dance for a few seconds as it washed over her. She sighed, knowing that tomorrow will be tough, bloody, and ultimately futile. _This is going to be very hard to explain to them, but it must be done._

Suddenly, there was a hard bang on the reinforced steel door ten feet behind her. “Enter.” Matilda commanded, knowing who it was that knocked. Slowly, the door opened and the face of Patricia revealed itself. Through the light of the fire, the witch could also see another pair of legs behind the American. As they came in, Patricia shifted slightly to the right and the other guest was another witch. She was a sergeant and very young, probably no more than sixteen by the looks of her, dressed very similar to what Katou wore, except she had leather bracers that went from her wrist to just below the elbows. Her name was Inagaki Mami, a fine pilot with a resume of loyal service that stretched further than her 4'6” body. The short dark brown hair came down to her chin and the brown eyes regarded Matilda with strained warmth. _She still looks to be in mourning over her friend Keiko._

“Sorry to keep you all waiting.” she apologized. “There was quite a bit of work that needed to be done.”

“Don't worry about it.” Matilda assured. “We all have that problem these days. Come on and sit by the fire.” The duo did just that, sitting around the fire and warming themselves up. “How are you both holding up?”

“As well as we can be given the circumstances.” Patricia answered, stretching her arms. She furrowed her brow and asked, “Do you know if that neophyte with a death wish is going to be here?”

“Recent developments in the east have prevented her from joining the fight here.” Matilda replied, stoking the fire with the tip of her spear. “At best, she'll make Kasserine by the morning according to the reports I've received.”

“That's abysmal.” Mami remarked, shaking her head in disappointment. “You'd think that even after successfully killing one of them that she'd be chomping at the bit to bag another.”

“That and we need every one that we can get.” the American quipped. She looked over at Matilda and inquired, “So what are we going to talk about?”

Matilda glanced at each of her friends in turn, taking mental note over how much empty space there was between them. _So few of us left now and there will probably be fewer after tomorrow. Furuko, Keiko, Marilyn, Abigail... all long gone._ “I want to tell all of you a few things that I feel that you deserve to know.” she began. “The enemy will commence operations against us at 0500. The beaches at Casablanca will be assaulted.”

“We don't have much down that way.” Inagaki observed. “They'll fall quick if they don't get reinforcements.”

“They should just all pull out and set up a defense at the river.” Patricia suggested. “If they stay in place, they'll just get rolled.”

“They can't leave.” Matilda stated. “Even if they start the withdrawal right now, pitifully little would get out in time. Plus, all that heavy ordinance would have to be abandoned. It would be a waste of time.”

“I see.” the Japanese witch reasoned. “They want us to move troops away from Tangiers, opening us up for secondary landings.”

“Correct,” Matilda admitted, “but that will come after they cross the strait in force.”

“They're seriously going to try that?” Patricia queried with a bit shock to her voice. “Our ships will have a field day sending them to the bottom. The narrow confines will mitigate their firepower dramatically.”

“Fast movers will push forward first with heavy cover from fighters. Our ships need to situate themselves wisely in order to create an effective killzone. We'll counter as best we can with the torpedo boats we've got. If we get lucky, we can keep them from penetrating deep into the strait.” Mami rationalized.

“And while that's going on, our counterattack at Gibraltar will be well underway. I trust you have your strike force assembled sergeant?” Matilda asked.

“All fully loaded and ready to go on your order.” Inagaki replied with pride.

“Just to let you know,” Matilda cautioned, “the warlock will be there. The mistress has instructed me to tell whoever could meet him to stay away from him as much as possible. If you can't just get out. He's already killed Furuko and Abigail. I don't want to see you fall Mami, not at this stage.”

“I understand.” the Japanese witch answered with a melancholy voice.

Patricia caught the tone and immediately went on the attack. “She's means it sergeant. He was created to kill our kind and he's very good at it. Abigail stood her ground to protect me instead of running as Matilda told her to do and she paid for her resistance with her life. We need to stay alive for as long as possible, to bleed the fuckers white, and drive them back.” she emphatically stated.

“All of that is true sergeant,” Matilda agreed, “except that last part.”

The response made what was left of her friends whip their head around and stare at her with wide eyes. “How can you say that Matilda?” the American gasped. “We still have men. We still have tanks and witches. We can still d-”

“Delos changed all of that.” Matilda countered, interrupting her subordinate. “After that disaster, the mistress herself confided in me her concerns. She said these following words: I feel that the tides fortune have left for good my dear. The loss of Delos was a blow that we cannot hope to recover from. From this point on, we're only going to get weaker and weaker. The war is over. Though your determination and loyalty is much appreciated my child, will and will alone won't alter the final outcome. All we can do is buy enough time.”

“I don't believe that.” Mami retorted, getting angry. “I refuse to accept that defeatist talk, even if it's from the mistress.”

Matilda's eyes flashed and her grip on the assegai tightened to the point where one could her the cracking of knuckles over the crackling flames. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“She's not calling you anything.” Patricia hastily added, trying to quell the tension. “It's just... we don't want it to end like this....” Her voice trailed off as tears began well up in her eyes.

Matilda placed a sympathetic hand on her friend's left shoulder and nodded, knowing full well what was going through her mind. “Death is inevitable for all things. It will come for all of us soon, but until then, we have a duty to resist. I will supervise the fleet actions in the strait, Iganaki will lead the assault on Gibraltar and you will do everything you can to hold Tangiers Patricia. Fight them until you can't.”

**************

Audie marked the landing sites in with a red pencil on the blown up map. Scenarios ran through his mind, a quirk of personality that had proved to be a lifesaver time and time again. _If I'm assigned to the left side of Tangiers things will be a bit tricky. There's a reef off the shoreline that will take us several miles further west of the city. The enemy will probably know that and fortify that point. Once we land, the elevation changes dramatically, going from zero to almost two hundred and fifty feet in no time. That should give us some cover when we get close enough. Hopefully the bombardment and CAS will knock out most of the defenses, but I doubt it. Meanwhile on the right, we won't have the reef blocking us and the elevation change isn't that extreme, but then there's that rail line. That will be where the enemy will dig in and fight should they lose the beach. Not a whole hell of a lot of cover between. Sniper's paradise. If we get through that, we'll be right in the outer trench networks. Nothing but booby traps and spider holes. Fuck me. If I had a choice in the matter, I'd rather go left. Here's to hoping._ A knock on the door to his room shook the lieutenant out of his thoughts, surprising himself to the point where dropped the pencil. “Come in.” he called out, bending over to pick up the pencil before it rolled away. “It's open.”

Within a second, the wheel turned rapidly and in scrambled Helga, barging inside without so much as a word. She whipped right around at the threshold and shut the door right behind her with a clunk. Panting from exertion she practically jogged up to him, muttering, “We need to... talk to... Neumann.”

Murphy knew what she meant and placed his hands on her shoulders, forgetting about the pencil. “Breath Helga. Breath. Sit on the cot with me.” he advised. He led her over and sat here down then took his place at her right side. “Why do we-” he started to say, but Von Kreiger cut him off.

“You know damn well why!” she snapped. “It should be me in that landing craft with you, not Edmund!”

“The captain is a good reliable soldier. He knows what he's doing.” Audie replied, defending the choice.

“I don't give a fuck what he is!” the German lieutenant shot back, tears starting to flow down her cheeks. She put her hands to her face and leaned forward. “It's not fair. They can make an exception for one of their own, but when it comes to us they suddenly turn a cold shoulder to our feelings? It's bullshit Audie and you know it.” she sobbed.

“They had their reasons.” Murphy retorted, his voice rising from annoyance.

“What reasons could they possibly have?!” Helga shouted, getting up from the cot and facing him. “This whole assignment was nothing short of spite!”

The American had heard enough and sprang up from his bed, causing Von Kreiger's eyes to widen in shock and to step away from him. He took a quick step and a half and grabbed her by the arms. “It's not spite Helga.” he firmly stated, giving her a slight shake. “It's because they know about what we have between us. They all know that you love me.” Helga looked down and away, tears falling to the floor of the room. Then she felt Audie's hand on the left side of her cheek, tilting her head back to where she had no choice to look back at him. She stifled a gasp upon seeing tears well up in the man's eyes. “And I love you too.” he uttered. “Regardless of what you did in the past, I loved you from the moment I saw you.” Without warning, Audie leaned in and kissed her fully on the lips, the tears silently dribbling down his face. After a good few seconds, he let go of her entirely and embraced her. “I'm sorry it took so long for me to say that.”

Von Kreiger smiled and held onto him, nuzzling her head into his chest. “Don't be. Ever since last month, you've been the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. All the moments we've shared between us since then, I've cherished, cherished to the point that I got scared of losing them. Every time we had to go our separate ways during battle, thoughts of you getting killed made me want to run away just to be near you. I don't want to lose you Audie.” she whispered into his ears.

“I don't want to lose you either and neither do they want to see such a good love get destroyed.” Murphy admitted in a low voice. “That's why they split us apart, so that we don't get paralyzed with fear.”

Helga looked at him and ran her fingers through his short hair. “Audie? Can you promise me something? If I get my sentence commuted, but you're still fighting, will you let me wait for you? When this is all over, will you take me to America with you?”

***********

“To be honest Tatiana, I think this whole mess is going to be over real soon.” Aaron answered as he talked with Nabakov over his communicator.

“Given how the lines are right now, you may be right.” the Russian agreed. “It's really good to hear your voice again.”

“Same. I'm sorry about not talking to you more than I should. Things just kept popping up and before I knew it, it's been a few weeks rather than days.” Divale apologized.

“You sound a little different there Aaron.” Nabakov observed with some concern. “Is something the matter?”

“I've been looking at life with a different perspective. It's only been a week but, I started opening my eyes and heart more than my mouth and the change is like night and day. I'm much more relaxed now and I feel great, like some weight is off my shoulders at long last.” the warlock explained.

“I hope when we meet again that I'll be able to see it.” Tatiana replied.

“Speaking of which, where are you right now?” Aaron asked.

“About ten or so miles south of Sirte, at least what's left of it. We practically wiped it off the face of the earth and I hate them for doing it. I hate sleeping in a tent Aaron. It's so damned uncomfortable and I can hardly sleep with all the swirling winds and the far off artillery duels. I want a comfy bed with crisp sheets again.” Nabakov complained.

“Tell you what,” Divale announced with a smile, “I'll make sure to bring one with me next time I get some time off the front.”

“You do that, I'll be sure to thank you personally.” the Russian whispered seductively.

“Likewise.” the warlock responded. “I wish I could talk with you more, but I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow and I need sleep. Talk to you later okay?”

“Khorosho. Ostavaysya v bezopasnosti, tam chetyre glaza. (Alright. Stay safe out there four eyes).” Tatiana stated sincerely.

“YA budu. Ty tozhe. Spokoynoy nochi  (I will. You too. Goodnight).” Aaron uttered. He killed the link and breathed in the briny air, feeling the last rays of the setting sun on his skin as he stood on the deck of the Yamato. He'd been up on the wooden gun deck for a good fifteen minutes, simply sitting on his rear end, his back leaning against the low railing. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his back pants pocket, he fished the last one out and the lighter that he jammed into it. Divale crushed the flimsy paper pack into a straw, folded it, and shoved it into his left breast pocket. His ears detected the sounds of footsteps coming towards him, but he ignored them as he flicked the lighter and lit the cigarette. After taking a quick drag, he turned to regard who it was. Walking calmly, her boots loudly clunking on the wooden deck, was Lieutenant Marseilles, strangely unaccompanied by Raisa. Such a sight made him furrow his brow. _Now this is odd. What's this all about?_

“I thought I'd find you here.” Hanna casually mentioned when she got close enough, standing slightly to his right. She glanced out over the horizon towards the northeast, the wind gently causing her long blond hair to sway to and fro. “It's beautiful. Don't you agree?”

“Most certainly.” Aaron concurred with a nod. “So what's up lieutenant? What's on your mind?”

“That's funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Marseilles replied.

Divale chuckled, puffs of smoke billowing out of his mouth with every giggle. “Just wondering about tomorrow. Never tried to defend a beach before, at least not outside of training.” he admitted.

“So you're nervous?” Hanna asked.

“Yeah, but but not for me.” the warlock explained, getting up from the deck. “I'm worried about Wilma.”

“Me too. That's why I didn't want to send her to Gibraltar to begin with. If she discovers that her sister's dead and can't execute her duty, I want you to bring her back to the Yamato. Understand?” the lieutenant ordered.

“You got it.” Aaron stated. “Where's Pottgen? Sleeping?”

Hanna nodded and regarded her subordinate. “How are you feeling?” she inquired.

“Better than I was.” Divale replied, taking a longer drag. “Thanks for asking lieutenant. I appreciate it.”

The response took Marseilles aback and she found herself fumbling her words. “Y-Your welcome. It's g-good seeing you like t-this.” she stammered.

Aaron cocked an eyebrow and thought about what was going on.  _She's being way too nice right now. What's going on in that head Hanna? What's behind those eyes?_ “Who are you and what have you done with my real CO?” he queried with a grin.

“What do you mean by that?!” Marseilles snapped, the change in tone clearly indicating that she wasn't amused. “You telling me that if I'm not constantly yelling at you that I'm not genuine?!”

_And just like that, I've sunk the ship._ “It's a joke Hanna. Ease up.” Divale answered, trying to reduce the tension.

“Well I don't find it funny lieutenant!” Hanna angrily replied.

“And I don't find it funny that ever since I came here that you have been constantly up my ass, grilling me for no reason other than to denigrate me in front of the whole squadron.” the warlock stated, his voice getting more menacing with every syllable.

“If you didn't constantly butt heads with me, maybe I wouldn't have.” Marseilles countered. “I'll admit you're a good solider and incredibly useful, but not very obedient.”

Aaron tilted his head over the side of the railing and spat out his cigarette. “Oh I've been useful alright. Useful in resurrecting your flagging fame.” he retorted.

“How dare-” the German witch began to say, but the warlock got in close with a half step and glared down at her, his eyes burning like a furnace.

“Don't you start trying to dig yourself out of that hole Hanna. You know damn well I'm right. When we met the first time in your office back at Alexandria, I knew just what kind of person you were and still are. You just want the fame and fortune. You want the praise and medals. You don't give a fuck about anyone but yourself and you really don't like sharing the stage. That's why you've been making my life hell down here. From being dead weight for the truck that we took to Dongola all the way to you sending me down to Fort Maddalena, you did your damn best in keeping me under wraps so you could get the full glare of the press' camera flashes.” Divale ranted, doing his absolute best to keep his voice level and taking small steps forward so as to make her back away from him. “And at my most weakest, you still tried to kick me while I was down. Juliette told me what happened at that meeting you all had in El Agheila. Rather than lend a helping hand to a person who desperately needed help, you spat on him and told them that it'd be better if he just left. You say I'm a piece of work Hanna? Where I'm standing, you're the biggest piece of shit on this boat.”

“As if you have the right to judge me!” Hanna shouted. She swung a high hook and the warlock simply batted it away. “You don't know me at all!”

“I know enough to say this: A week from now, I'm done. Hope you're fucking happy at seeing your squadron get relegated to the sidelines due to having too few pilots.” Aaron emphatically declared.

“Fine! Go then! We never needed you!” Marseilles yelled.

Divale laughed cruelly. “Says the one whose kraut ass I helped save in Alexandria and Benghazi. You wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for me.” he pointed out. He then stretched his arms above his head and groaned. “I'd like to stay and continue this wonderful conversation, but I have a long day tomorrow and I need some rest.” he announced as he got out of the lieutenant's way. However, he was halted by a firm grip on his right arm. Slowly, Aaron turned his head, only to see Hanna's deep purple face, her entire body trembling with rage. In her right hand, shining an odd color, was a familiar looking weirding stone. 

“You hold right fucking there!” Marseilles growled. “State a falsehood for the record!”

“You're the most beautiful woman I ever saw.” Divale mentioned. The stone shook hard in the witch's right palm and she gritted her teeth. “Don't get mad at me cunt. You wanted the truth.”

“Before you go for good, I want to know the fucking truth you bastard! Is there a plot to take away my command!” Hanna seethed.

“No.” the warlock curtly replied. Marseilles looked at the weirding stone, expecting it to vibrate, but nothing happened. Her eyes went wide and the ire that consumed her started to evaporate like morning dew on grass. “And I'll let you in on something else: I never wanted your command. The reason being is that unlike you, I didn't earn it. You kept the squadron running during the worst of times and led it to victory after victory in the best. You're a good leader Hanna, but your fucking pride and arrogance is driving people away. It's killing us. And mark my words, it will get you in deep shit if you don't change.” He looked down at her hand and back at her. Hanna released him and watched him walk away, not even looking back just as the sun fully set behind them.

***********

A pair of hands carefully, but hastily opened the mail bag, mindful that the delivery man could come around at any moment. Once the space was wide enough, a rather large package was shoved in. The overhead light briefly illuminated the recipient. GENERAL E. ROMMEL PRIORITY. The drawstring was pulled taut and the neophyte grinned.  _I may not be close, but I can still do damage. Let's see how well the snake does when it loses it's head._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation Torch gets underway. Who will emerge victorious?

_ **Chapter XIX: Being King Of The Rock (While Crossing The T)** _

_We have no choice anymore. We have to hold Varna to have even the slightest chance of making sure they can get out. It's going to hurt and our supplies will quickly drain, but this is where we stand and fight._

Diary Entry January 4 th  1941

Aaron rose into the still dark morning sky, his arms wrapped around Aurora's and Wilma's waist. After getting to around a thousand feet up, he leveled off and sped straight ahead towards Gibraltar. Both the witches looked well rested, but only one of them wasn't nervous. Hanging off his right arm, Wilma's blue eyes looked worried and her hands would occasionally twitch. Juutilainen noticed it and gestured with her neck at her counterpart. Divale knew what to do and cleared his throat, getting her attention. “Don't worry about it Wilma.” he stated. “Lynn is going to be alright.”

“God Aaron I hope so.” Wilma replied, hoping against hope that her sister was still alive. “If something's happened to her, mother would never forgive me.”

“It's not your fault that she enlisted.” Aurora pointed out. “She did it to protect people, not to follow in your footsteps.”

“I know that, but still-” Peterborough tried to say, but Divale gave her a small squeeze that made her stop mid sentence.

“I don't want either of you to say anything, but last night Marseilles told me that if it looks to me that you can't do this, to take you back to the Yamato.” the warlock informed. He looked down at her and added, “I agreed, but I really don't want to do that. We need you in this fight Wilma. Me and Aurora are good, but we're going to have our hands full.”

“How about this? When we get to Gibraltar, we'll find out where the 610th is and pay your sister a visit. What do you say?” Aurora suggested.

The anxiety that sat in Wilma's heart cleared up like the sky after a long rain. “I'd appreciate that. Thank you.” she answered.

The captain then pulled out a map from her front right pocket and opened it up, making very sure that she maintained a grip on the precious chart. “From what it says here, we should be coming up on it any moment now. Climb up to two thousand and hold altitude. I'm going to try to hail them.” Aurora ordered, putting it away. Aaron instantly obeyed, climbing higher as Juutilainen tried to establish contact. His vision peered through the dark and soon beheld the fabled Rock of Gibraltar. Long regarded by the ancient Greeks and later the Romans as one of the two fabled Pillars of Hercules, it rose over fourteen hundred feet into the air, a single massive piece of limestone rock connected to the Spanish mainland by a roadway thick strip of sand. Most of the upper peaks were covered with thick vegetation and towards the northern part was the remains of an ancient Moorish castle, a tall tower flying the Union Jack proudly. Here and there, he spotted dozens of embrasures sporting artillery and AA barrels. _This place must have been a bitch to take back in the day._

“I repeat, this is Captain Juutilainen of the 31st JFS Afrika requesting permission and location for landing. Over.” Aurora stated in her communicator.

“Captain Juutilainen, this is Field Marshal Edmund Ironside, commander of the Gibraltar Defense Force. We read you and your request for landing has been granted. Please make your way to the outer keep gate of the Moorish Castle. I will meet you there. Ironside out.” the field marshal finally replied.

Aurora cut the link and pointed with her left hand. “Right over there Aaron. Take us in.” she commanded.

Divale smiled gleefully and sharped veered in the direction indicated, doing a series of rolls as he descended. His friends didn't so much as utter a peep as he went down. “You two aren't as fun as Amelie.” he remarked, clearly disappointed.

“You actually enjoy making women scream?” Juutilainen countered with a sly grin.

“This a trick question?” Aaron asked. No answer would be forthcoming as the warlock batted his wings a tad to slow the descent. The trio gently landed and he let them both go, readjusting his glasses upon touch down. Looking around, they found themselves in front of a tall gate made of thick wood and reinforced with long steel bands. The battlements were clearly manned by British soldiers who gawked at them from high above, not used to seeing people come to this place. AA guns, most of them Bofors, pointed upwards towards the sky. _Almost like Dover Castle, but not quite. Somethings off. Probably the architecture._ One of the soldiers in the gatehouse got out a pair of binoculars and made a move to look through them, but Divale would have none of it. Brandishing his machine gun, he pointed it up at the peeping tom and called out, “This isn't that kind of show chum.” The man caught the hint and quickly ducked out of sight. Before the witches had a chance to ask him what that was all about, the gate started to open slowly, the clanking sounds of gears pulling heavy chains echoing all around them. It only opened enough for a single individual to squeeze through and from that space came forth a tall well built man in his mid sixties, his size and proportions virtually identical to Aaron. On his epaulettes was the insignia of a British field marshal, two crossed batons surrounded by golden leaves under the crown of St Edward. His cap covered his snow white hair and his brown eyes looked over them dismissively, making the witches and warlock feel very uncomfortable from the start.

“Good morning. I'm Field Marshal Edmund Ironside, commander of the Gibraltar Defense Force. Welcome to The Rock.” he stated once he cleared the threshold.

“I'm Captain Aurora Juutilainen of the 31st JFS Afrika. This is Sergeant Wilma Peterborough and Lieutenant Aaron Divale. We're honored to be here.” Aurora replied cordially.

“Not to put a fire blanket over this warm welcome, but you might want to look at the situation more realistically captain. Come with me.” Ironside curtly ordered. He turned around and walked back through the gap. The witches and the warlock followed suit, the ease at which Aaron got through causing him to raise his arms up to the heavens and mouth 'Finally'. Inside the keep grounds proper, the gun crews continued to labor in the waning darkness, doing inventory and running routine maintenance checks. Out of all this hustle and bustle, something was a bit off. Standing away against the keep wall were two armed guards. Divale eyed them warily. _Now why would you post guards in an area that doesn't look like it needs protecting?_ One of the soldiers saw them approach and he and his comrade stepped off to the side and pressed his right hand on some seemingly random brick. The block sank into the wall and a section of it started to rise, the grinding of stone loud and eerie. _Ah, a secret entrance. Clever._ The cold field marshal reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it over to Aurora who saw that it was a map of the underground tunnel network. “Follow the main route until you come to Tunnel B and make a left. Continue to go down that way and you'll find your position second from the end of the line. Questions?” Ironside asked as he traced the route with his left index finger.

Wilma then took the opportunity to play her hand. “Field Marshal Ironside sir? Where would the 610th be stationed? I have a sister in that unit and I don't-” she started to say, but the officer rudely interrupted her.

“This is a posting Sergeant Peterborough, not a visitation.” he retorted. Regarding Juutilainen, he added, “You have your orders. Good luck captain. Dismissed.” The trio gave their salutes and the field marshal returned them half heartedly. As he turned to leave, Wilma felt nothing but sadness and anger for the harsh rebuke. _What's so wrong about me seeing if Lynette is alive? Don't they understand the concept of family at all?_

“Psst.” one of the guards uttered, drawing her attention. “If you're all looking for the 610th, they're stationed right next to you. Can't miss them.”

The act of kindness made the witch smile. “Thank you.” she answered. Aurora decided that it was time to get a move on and they hastily moved through the door with Wilma taking the lead, Juutilainen in the middle, and Divale taking up the rear. Once they went inside, they descended a long smooth spiral stair case. The air was markedly cooler than the outside world and it felt most welcome to her. _Though I've gotten used to the hellish heat down here, I've sorely missed this. Speaking of missed..._ She looked over her right shoulder at Aaron and inquired, “What was that all about?”

“Which part?” Divale queried. “The field marshal being so aloof or his statement about tempering your expectations?

“I'm not talking about that, I'm wondering about why you said those words back at the gatehouse.” Aurora clarified.

“Oh that.” the warlock commented, understanding at last. “One of the soldiers wanted to get a better view if you know what I mean.”

Juutilainen silently nodded, digesting what she heard. “I appreciate that.” she stated.

“Anytime.” Aaron replied. He craned his neck and observed Wilma bounding down the steps two at a time. “Hold up Wilma. There could be something nasty down there.” However, the witch was so hellbent on getting answers that she simply didn't listen. Her Strikers hit the stone steps hard, crushing small pebbles to dust and chipping limestone shards off the the edge of the step. Suddenly, the stairs abruptly ended just as she leapt into the air again. It wouldn't have been an issue had it not been the fact that the floor was a good foot lower. Wilma's eyes widened for she knew that the moment that her Strikers hit the ground, she'd be thrown off balance and fall hard. She closed her eyes reflexively and expected to feel the bone jarring impact any second. That was when she felt something wrap around her waist and hold her fast. Surprised, Peterborough opened her eyes and looked down. The strong right arm of Aaron suspended her just a few inches up from the floor, her form draped over his limb as if she was a child slung over a tree branch.

“Thank you.” Wilma mentioned with a relieved sigh.

“Is she alri-” Aurora started to say, but her words died in her throat upon seeing the pair at the angle she had. Both her friends looked behind them and then at each other. An awkward silence passed between them as they slowly began to understand the issue. Looking at it from behind, it looked for all the world that he had her positioned in way that would be considered sexual. She gave a sly grin and casually commented, “My, my. Nice catch Aaron.”

Divale recognized what she was getting at and quickly, but gently, lowered a blushing Wilma to the ground. “As if I'd try that.” he retorted, getting out of the way so that Aurora could get past. “Edmund would kick my ass. And I would let him.”

“That raises a very good question.” the Finnish witch brought up, not done with embarrassing him. “Have you ever had a married man come after you after finding out that you slept with his wife?”

“No comment.” the warlock curtly replied. “So now where do we go? Left?”

Juutilainen took a quick gander at their new surroundings. The tunnel was wide and had a high ceiling, similar to a subway. Cracks in the wall reveal deeper shades of the limestone. Slightly further down in either direction were two massive steel doors, one labeled Tunnel A leading right and the other Tunnel B going left. She indicated where they had to go with a quick gesture of the neck and they moved towards the door. When they got to it, Aurora gave the closed eye slit a hard rap with the very tip of her 75mm cannon. Seconds passed before the slit opened and a pair of green eyes peered down at them. “We're the 31st JFS Afrika. We've been assigned to the very end of the line.” she explained. Without so much as a word, the slit closed and the three new additions to The Rock heard the sounds of heavy lock bars being pulled and set in place. Then the steel door opened and the green eyed soldier stepped out of the way.

The first thing that Juutilainen noticed wasn't the semi crowded corridor, people sitting on crates talking, eating, drinking, or playing cards, nor did she bat an eye at the smells of body odor and cigarette smoke. What she detected was a pall of tiredness that laid just underneath it all. It was on every face she glanced at, in every movement of the legs, arms, and the flapping jaws. Long streams of red from the beginning sunrise filtered in through embrasures and blown out sections of the defenses. _Looks just like Vorkuta. We need to move fast. The enemy could attack any moment now._ With no time to waste, Aurora crossed the threshold, Wilma and Aaron following suit. As one, they walked briskly down the passageway, the witches at either end and the warlock taking up the center. Several curious onlookers regarded them with blank exhausted stares for a brief second or two and then returned back to whatever it was that they were doing. Most however didn't looked at them at all. “Appears everyone's had it rough down here.” the witch quipped in a low voice.

“Reminds me of the underground in France.” Aaron replied. “And Vorkuta too.”

Wilma remained silent, panning her head in every direction, hoping against hope that she'd catch a glimpse of Lynette. _Come on God. Don't do this to me. Where are you Lynn? Where are you girl?_ For a good few minutes, her frantic search was turning up nothing but empty faces and small turnoffs that led to the artillery and AA emplacements. Now and then she would see a long braid from a witch and her heart would skip a beat, but upon further inspection, it wasn't who she was looking for and her heart would sink. She also realized that the further they went down the corridor, the more the walls looked worse for wear, the constant attacks turning the once strong fortifications into rubble. Some holes were so spacious that three men of Aaron's size would have no trouble flying through at the same time. _Looks bad. Please be alright Lynette._ Soon, the end of the journey loomed ahead of them, a dead end of rough hewn stone and Wilma's pace quickened to double time, then a jog, and finally an all out sprint as she ran to each and every turnoff, checking each one thoroughly for any signs of her sister. “Lynette!” she called out, “Lynette, where are you?!”

“Wilma?” a faint voice uttered from the next to last turnoff. Peterborough turned on her heels and made a beeline for the turnoff. She started breathing heavily as she whipped around the corner, rocketing down a narrow corridor that led to a what looked like some sort of gun emplacement. Her Strikers beat the stone mercilessly until she came into the main chamber proper. It was large, but one wouldn't be able to tell with the seventeen pound gun in the exact middle that faced out towards the beaches, along with the scores of shells stashed inside a blast shield off to the right side. A snaking grenade trench wound along the walls adding further protection for the defenders. Her arrival didn't go unnoticed by the witches of the 610th, at least twelve of them all staring at her wide eyed. Wilma panned over each and every face, each one not who she wanted to see. Something stirred off to the left and she turned to look. Getting up from the stone floor, casting off a blanket as she did so was Lynette, looking like she just got up from a long nap, yet the dark circles under her eyes told everyone otherwise. Her sweater was dirty and parts of the sleeves were frayed to the point where Wilma thought that she could see skin. The knee high socks looked tight in places, the result of being haphazardly patched up. Bishop's normally robust braid was a mess, stray locks sticking out like the spokes of a wheel.

The two sisters looked at each other for a long drawn out moment and soon tears welled up. “Lynette!” Wilma cried out, embracing her sibling and holding her tight. “Thank God you're okay!”

“I'm okay?! I've been worried sick about you when mother told me that you and Edmund left! I prayed everyday for both of you!” Lynette replied with equal force. The rest of the 610th looked on in silence with a mixture of wonder and happiness as the joyous reunion played out in front of them all. There were a few tears shed, most of them by the sisters as they held each other tight. After what seemed like ages, the two let go and Bishop looked around. “Where's Edmund?” she asked.

“He's fine.” Wilma replied. “He's going to be part of the Tangiers landings. No clue which beach though.”

The news made Lynette's heart stop. “Beach landings? Does that mean that Patton is finally going to force his way into the strait?” she feverishly inquired.

“That he is.” another voice answered. Bishop looked and saw another witch enter the room. “And we are going to help them. I'm Lieutenant Juutilainen of the 31st JFS Afrika. Pleasure to meet you Master Sergeant Bishop.”

Lynette gave her superior a salute and it was returned. “You both must be tired from such a long journey overland from Lisbon. Better get something to eat or drink before things kick off again.” she offered.

“No need.” Aurora politely declined with a wave of her right hand. “It actually didn't take us long to get here at all. A best maybe ten minutes.”

The answer made the British witch furrow her brow in puzzlement. “How is that possible? Neither of you fly so how did you get here so fast?”

“The came in via Warlock Air.” a man's voice announced. All looked and saw Aaron Divale calmly walk in, eyes closed as he took off his glasses and put them away. He opened them again and regarded Lynette with a warm smile. “The only way to fly.”

Bishop inhaled sharply and her hands went up to her face. “Aaron!” she blurted, sprinting towards him. The warlock didn't have any time to react before she collided with him and knocked him down to the floor with a small ooof. Lynette got her head close to his face, the widest smile ever on her lips. “I can't believe that it's you! I've missed you! I really really missed you!”

“No you didn't.” Divale responded sarcastically, holding onto her as he got back up to his feet. “I think you hit exactly where you were aiming and this time you didn't need a chair to help you out.”

“Oh pish posh Aaron. That was an accident.” Bishop countered, remembering the dance they had at the Admiral Benbow Inn. She took a step back and marveled at him. “My God you've really changed. You're hair is so long and you've gotten so tan. I can't wait to tell the rest of the old squadron about this.”

“Well, Shirley and Francesca already know how I'm doing.” the warlock absentmindedly commented.

“Really?” Wilma queried. “How did you do that?”

 _Shit! I forgot that was supposed to be under wraps. Got to play this off somehow._ “They came on over to help with the Halfaya Pass reconstruction. Fun times.” Aaron lied.

“Though he did look really bad then.” Juutilainen pointed out. “His hair was a lot longer and he had a full beard. Looked more like a wild man than a soldier.”

“Um, excuse me Lieutenant Divale sir?” a timid sounding voice asked. Divale glanced over at the speaker and saw a short blond hair witch, a sergeant, looking up at him positively terrified, quaking in her Strikers. “Are you the warlock? Are you the one who helped defend our country from that Leviathan those months ago?”

“That's right sergeant,” Aaron replied, “and I'd do it all over again.” His answer seemed to calm her down and the witch reached into one of her ammo pouches and pulled out an old newspaper clipping and a pen. Squinting at the date and a very familiar black and white face, he remembered that it was when his records were declassified. _Oh yes. They didn't get my good side, but I wasn't exactly happy about it._

“Could I trouble you to sign this for me?” the sergeant asked, offering the writing instrument to him.

“No problem at all.” Divale stated, taking the pen. It looked very small in his right hand, but he artfully and carefully signed his name on the newspaper, his signature flowing and neat. “There you are.” he added when he was done.

The sergeant's face beamed as she looked down at it. “Thank you very much!” she exclaimed, about facing and placing it reverently back into her pouch. Aaron made a move to give back the pen, but she shook her head. “Keep it. Could come in handy one day.” she stated.

Shrugging, the warlock placed the pen in his back pocket. _Now this is a nice change of pace. If these were the old days, she'd ask me to sleep with her. I could get used to this whole autograph thing._ “So when is this all going to happen? The attack I mean?” Lynette asked, looking at Aurora.

The captain looked down at her watch and relayed, “0500. Less than ten minutes from now. Casablanca is going to get shelled and assaulted first and the fleet is going to march right into the strait and shoot it out with the enemy.”

“If they do that, then we're surely going to get attacked.” Bishop deduced. “What about us? Are they lending us support?”

“We are the support unfortunately.” Aaron illuminated. “If it were up to me, I would've sent at least some gunboats to sink some of those transports.”

The life drained from the master sergeant's face and she looked down and away, processing the information. “We're all going to die.” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lynette!” Wilma shouted with disgust. “How dare you say that! You've only been here a week!”

“You don't understand sister.” Lynette replied, looking over them all. “The enemy has been sending fighters and witches across the way day and night. Skies are filed with so much flak that we've been ordered to remain at our posts for fear of friendly fire. It's been very bad here, especially on this section of the line. There's practically nothing separating us from the outside. We're completely open to all sorts of high explosive fire. At least five people in our squadron have already died and everyone right next door were killed in the last amphibious assault just two days ago. They got so close to overwhelming us it was scary. So many more died driving them back.” The trio of newcomers looked at each other, silently realizing that they were the next ones to go there. “And that's not all. Whenever they come over the water, the human soldiers under their command have been getting more aggressive as if they've been drugged somehow and they have Neuroi in their ranks as well. Then there's this one witch. She's Japanese like Mio and Yoshika, but she's utterly evil and untouchable. Has twin 40mm Bofors and an 88mm cannon and she's been blowing hole after hole in our lines with near impunity and there's nothing we can do about it.”

“Until now.” Aaron stated with confidence. “Leave that problem to me.” He looked over at Aurora and added, “I'm going to go next door and look at our new lodgings.” Juutilainen nodded and left the room, thinking all the while with every step he took. _From what Lynette says, the enemy might be resorting to combat stimulants to increase effectiveness. That means they'll close the distance in almost no time. Then there's that matter with the witch. She must be a five chevron and the leader. I take her down and this whole operation gets easier to manage. Must have super strength magic to lug all that firepower, just like that witch at Dongola, Abigail. Can't take any chances. Just go in and finish it fast._ His thoughts continued in the same vein until he took a left into the turnoff leading into the room right next to the 610th. Divale didn't even have to take two full steps inside to know that the situation inside was bad. The walls of the corridor were pock marked with bullet holes and large fissures in the rock. Chunks of stone from pebbles to rocks the size of basketballs laid everywhere. His eyes adjusted to the light of the sunrise that came in far greater quantities than it normally should and he could detect scraps of fabric, dark puddles of dried blood, and shell casings. He continued to venture deeper into the passageway, stepping over debris. The twin scents of death and gunpowder lay thick in the air and it made Aaron's nose wrinkle. Once he got into the main chamber, he was horrified to discover that the embrasure was nonexistent, nothing but a gaping hole as wide as a truck with waist high sandbags for protection. The AA gun was ruined beyond repair, the entire emplacement cast off into the lower right hand corner, leaving a circular design in the stone floor where it originally was. As he got closer to the sandbags, the floor became sticky, the remnants of the former occupants still not fully dried. Ignoring the sounds his boots made, the warlock looked out over and beheld the cratered beaches, bathed in rays of orange, red, and purple with the waves gently lapping against the shore. Breathing in deep, his lungs took in the briny air.

A pair of footsteps made him cock his eyebrows and he turned around to see Wilma and Aurora walk around the main chamber, doing their best to hide their unease. “Mother of God.” Peterborough muttered as she bore witness to the rough state of affairs. “Lynette wasn't kidding.”

“Really makes me wonder if we've been sold on a lemon.” Juutilainen observed. She regarded Divale and asked, “What do you think Aaron?”

“What I think about this situation is irrelevant captain. The general put us here and we're going to have to fight here.” the warlock replied without humor. Suddenly, a series of loud booms far off in the distance echoed in the early morning air, causing both witches to stand with him. “Sounds like the Casablanca attack has started.” he deduced, triangulating the sound's epicenter. “Those are big fucking guns being brought to bear.

“Definitely sounds like it.” Aurora agreed. “I say we get settled in and-” More loud booms could be heard, silencing the rest of the captain's statement, however, unlike the previous ones, these sounded much closer. Disturbed, Juutilainen pulled out her binoculars and looked out over the horizon. _Now where the hell are those coming from?_ As if it was a command, the lenses picked up infinitesimally small explosions and pinhead thick plumes of black smoke right above them on the mainland of Spain at two separate locations. Her eyes widened when she realized what was going on. _No! It can't be!_ “They're attacking the support batteries!” she cried out.

“Where?! Which ones!” Wilma asked, brandishing her rifle.

“Both.” the captain answered. She regarded the warlock who looked right back down at her. “Cloak yourself and see what we're dealing with. Tell me everything you find out over the comms. If they're jamming you, get right back here on the double.” she ordered.

“On my way.” Aaron replied, unfurling his wings and vaulting over the sandbags. Just as he was about to fly away, movement in his left peripheral vision make him stop and stare. Out of the widest point of the embrasure, Bishop's head poked out, her blond hair looking more red than anything in the light.

“Aaron! What's going on!?” Lynette shouted.

“The support batteries are getting hit! Juutilainen is sending me out there to investigate!” Divale bellowed back. Soon, more of the British witch's body squirmed out of the opening and the warlock groaned internally. _Oh no. Don't do this Lynn._

Wilma craned her neck to see what the fuss was about and gasped in horror as her sister fully emerged from the embrasure and started revving up her Striker engines. “Lynette, what the fuck are you doing!? Get back back to your position!” she roared over the engines.

“I'm going with him!” Bishop retorted loudly, racking the bolt to her anti tank rifle. “I'll cover him if her runs into trouble!”

“Absolutely not!” Aaron vehemently disagreed. “It's too dangerous!”

“You can't do this alone Aaron! What if something happens out there huh? Then we'll be deaf and blind and you'll be dead! I'm not letting that happen!” the master sergeant argued.

“You're not going damn it!” Peterborough shouted. She turned to face Aurora who looked deep in thought and pleaded, “Please tell her to go back. It's not safe for her to go out.”

Juutilainen glanced at Wilma and asked, “Do you trust Aaron to protect her?”

The sergeant's face paled. “You're not seriously going to-”

“Do you trust Aaron to protect her?” the Finnish witch repeated. Wilma looked back at her sister, then at Aaron, and finally back to her before silently nodded, her face wracked with fear. Aurora placed a reassuring left hand on her subordinate's left shoulder and whispered, “She's in good hands with him. He saved her life once and he'll do it again.” Regarding the warlock, she commanded, “Make sure Master Sergeant Bishop returns alive Lieutenant Divale or don't come back at all. That's an order.”

******************

Cruising high in the air, Lieutenant Marseilles looked down at the massive fleet assembled below her, the ships looking like dolphin fins as they made their way towards the strait, each vessel spewing smoke as their engines went full speed ahead. To either side of her, Raisa and Edytha looked forwards, scanning the skies for incoming targets while Elizabeth and Hanna guarded the rear. Her head panned in all directions, taking in the scene. Above and away from them were dozens of squadrons of both plane and witch crisscrossing the skies. Doing a quick count in her head, she estimated the total to be around five hundred. _This is remarkable. I don't think I've ever flown with this many pilots in one battle before._ The thought triggered the memory of Aaron walking away from her last night on the Yamato gun deck and it made her jaw clench in anger. _How dare he leave! He owes it to himself, his friends, and especially to me to see this through and he's up and quitting! I should courtmarshal the bastard out of spite just so he stays put._ Neumann noticed the change in her squadron leader's mood and asked, “Something on your mind lieutenant?”

Pottgen grew curious and looked at her friend. “You okay Hanna?” she inquired.

Hanna stared at both of her German counterparts in turn and motioned for them to get closer. The pair did so and she lowered her voice so that the others wouldn't hear. “Aaron and I had a vicious argument last night and he told me that he's leaving a week from now.” she whispered. A very tense shocked silence reigned until Edytha's face started to get beet red with rage. “I can explain.”

“Was für ein Fick hast du dieses Mal gemacht (What the fuck did you do this time)?!” Neumann seethed, bit of spittle flying out of her mouth.

“Gar nichts. Er sagte einige Dinge, mit denen ich nicht einverstanden war, und es eskalierte einfach von dort aus. Ich habe nichts falsch gemacht (Nothing at all. He said some things that I didn't agree with and it just escalated from there. I did nothing wrong).” Marseilles explained, doing her best to defend herself.

“Bull Scheiße (Bullshit)!” the air commander snapped back.

“Ich muss Edytha hier Hanna zustimmen. Er mag dich und alle nicht mögen, aber das klingt nicht nach etwas, was Aaron tun würde (I have to agree with Edytha here Hanna. He may not like you and all, but that doesn't sound like something Aaron would do).” Raisa pointed out.

Edytha grabbed the lieutenant by the collar and pulled her to within a hair's breadth of her face and looked her right in the eyes. “Ihr hofft besser, dass Gott seine Meinung ändert, sonst wird es (You better hope to God that he changes his mind or else there's going to be)-” she started to say, but a voice shot across the airwaves, abruptly ending the conversation.

“Lieutenant Marseilles, this is Captain Juutilainen! Do you read me! Over!” Aurora shouted.

“I read you captain. What's going on? Over?” Hanna radioed back, Edytha releasing her a moment afterwards.

“The enemy had found our support batteries and are wiping them out! I've sent Lieutenant Divale and Master Sergeant Bishop on advanced reconnaissance to find out what we're dealing with! Over!” the captain relayed frantically as the sounds of wailing sirens started to whine in the background.

 _What?!_ “Raisa!” she ordered. “Get visual confirmation from the squadrons on the far left! They say that the support batteries are getting destroyed! Edytha! Inform the Admiral Yamamoto of this!” She turned her attention back to Aurora and stated, “Sit tight captain. We're doing everything we can to get this relayed now. Whatever comes your way, give it hell. Marseilles out.” She killed the link and swore under her breath as Pottgen and Neumann got in touch with the other squadrons and the admiral. _Well this day has started off on a great fucking foot now hasn't it?_

“Just got off the line with the admiral and he says that radar has picked up a massive flight of enemy fighters, both witch and Neuroi bearing eight thousand at twelve o clock.” Edytha reported, pulling out her binos and taking a look through the lens. The light of the rising sun made her squint hard, but she could still make out black shapes in the distance. “I have visual. At least equal strength to ours.”

“Outer left squadrons have confirmed that our defense networks in Spain are being hit. They see the smoke and have recorded several explosions.” Raisa declared.

Hanna thumbed her communicator to the all channel frequency and cleared her throat. “To all squadrons, this is Lieutenant Marseilles. We have visual on the enemy bearing eight thousand at twelve o clock. Keep up your speed, but lead them towards us and stay close to them. We don't want to get chewed up by focused AA fire. If you see breaks in the air cover, call them out and start escorting the torpedo and naval bombers. Marseilles out.” she announced. After killing the link, she racked the bolt to her machine gun and watched as the mass of enemy fighters came closer and closer. _Alright you bastards. If it's a fight you want, then a fight you're going to get._ Slowly, she placed her finger on the trigger and patiently waited until the time was right. To either side of her, Edytha and Raisa did the same while Elizabeth and Rudel held up further back, ready to ward off any pursuers. Seconds stretched out into minutes as the air forces neared engagement range. Unable to wait any longer, Marseilles breathed in deep and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Fire!” Bullets from every barrel riddled the skies, spraying the area in hot lead. Return fire answered as well as the chiming of hit shields and explosions. Despite the hail of gunfire, the two sides blew right through each other, leaving death in their wakes. Her flight twisted and turned through the traffic, avoiding shot after shot. Before emerging through the mass of enemies, Marseilles spotted a witch at the same time she gazed upon her and the two brought their weapons to bear. Looking down her gunsights, she could see that the pilot was young and scared, her fear making the machine gun shake to and fro. For a brief moment, she felt the pity's pang in her heart, but she still squeezed the trigger. Her shots struck the foe's shields, the chiming loud, and the witch tried to roll away, but Hanna knew what she would do and changed her flight pattern to intercept, firing all the way. More harsh chimes resonated through the air and soon they shattered. The rest of the volley bit into the witch's side, blood spewing out of her mouth and her fatal wounds. Flecks of crimson hit Marseilles in the face, but she didn't feel it at all. In fact, she felt nothing but a sense of purpose. _No room for that. Only room for victory._

“I have a visual on the enemy fleet!” Rudel shouted, gesturing with her 37mm cannon. The lieutenant looked in the direction indicated and saw the enemy ships, the once proud vessels now neuroified, changing their colors from gunmetal gray to red and black.

“Excellent. Stay out of range until we get an opening. Don't go anywhere alone. Stay together” Hanna ordered. As she listened to the chorus of affirmatives, she managed to pick out admist the chaos a lone bird, a raven, that simply turned away and dove straight down, making a beeline for a large ship. Her eyes widened as she realized that that was no ordinary bird. _It's one of her trinkets I'm sure. So you're here as well Matilda. How convenient for me and bad for you._

********************

Matilda stood on the deck of the Parizhskaya Communa and watched the spectacle of death play out high above and away from her. She smiled as she deduced from the movements and devastation what was going on, taking great care to note how many black smoke contrails from stricken craft she could detect and the number of splashes as they crashed into the sea. _Typical Marseilles tactics. Keep them bottled up and close by so they can't be individually targeted. Keep up the good work Hanna. All it will do is drain your energy and make those bombers easy pickings for us._ A familiar caw of a raven reached her ears and her brown eyes saw the bird diving down at high speed. She put out her left arm and the raven fluttered over her limb before gently setting down on her wrist, the tiny yet sharp claws not even puncturing the skin. As soon as it made contact, Matilda's vision blurred as what the bird had seen began to transpose itself into her consciousness. After a few seconds, her sight returned yet instead of on a ship, she was now soaring through the sky, looking down at the enemy fleet. She focused her power and the shapes of ships began to get bigger and bigger, exposing more detail to the point where she could peer into the main command towers. _Pretty much what we assumed last night. They're sending the fast ships through first to create a firing line and a torpedo screen for the heavier guns._ Matilda then ended the spell, her sight and consciousness returning to normal. As for the raven, it glowed with a silver light and then vanished without a trace save for the slight jingling of one of her metal trinkets on her necklace. Holding her assegai with both hands, she bent her knees and backflipped high into the air, easily reaching above the mighty battleship and landed squarely on top of the command tower.

The wind picked up, filling her nostrils with brine at this height. It was soothing, but now was not the time to relax. Craning her neck, Matilda squinted her eyes and scanned the strait. Several small vessels, torpedo boats and destroyers, were filtering into the waters. _Our first catch of the day._ Smiling with anticipation, she raised her spear above her head. The movement triggered the main gun batteries of the Parizhskaya Communa to rotate, the whirring of gears and the grinding of metal far louder than the air battle overhead. After a few seconds the turret rotations were complete and silence reigned as Matilda waited and waited for the exact moment to strike. Another small pack of destroyers began to move diagonally, protecting the torpedo boats. She brought down the spear and bellowed, “Fire!” As one, the turrets fired, the freems so loud that a normal human being would go deaf if not experience severe tinnitus. Tracing the trajectories, the witch counted down the time of impact and impact they did. Two enemy destroyers were struck head on by the beams, exploding into gigantic fireballs and sending their surviving comrades into a frenzy. With a wave of her hand, scores of torpedo boats raced forwards, their small beamer weapons much less powerful, but fast firing, trying to get a bead on the other enemy vessels. “Kill them all! Leave no survivors!” Matilda commanded.

**********************

One second ago, everything was as good as it could've been for the British witch. Her friends were laying down suppressing fire from the bunker as to allow their forces extra time to regroup from the unexpected enemy air attack, they were communicating effectively, and getting kills. But that was then and the situation was now quite different. Smoke clouded her vision and her ears rung. Her right arm refused to move no matter how hard she tried and the world was blurry from shock. The witch's chest heaved as she panted and panned her head from left to right to see what was going on. Nostrils breathed in the air and the brain started to pick out certain scents. There was the harsh chemical burn of gunpowder, the acrid tinge of sand, the deep aroma of earth, and-. Pain seared up and down the right arm as the body began to understand what was happening. Simply put, it was a dislocation, the upper arm so far out of the socket that the skin seemed ready to give birth to the bone. Sight gradually returned as well as hearing and soon the world was full of nothing but the sounds of battle, of a titanic struggle being played all around her. Here there was the hard braps of AA fire, over there was the bowel loosening booms of heavy caliber cannons and explosions, and over yonder still cries of agony and despair. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to sit up, and the legs began to find purchase on the ground. A raging fire caught her eye, an inferno that reached far up into the heavens, the flames crackling and swaying in the gentle sea breeze. Through the haze of the fire's greedy consumption, she managed to catch a glimpse of what it was devouring. A pair of eyes widened as the British witch soon realized that it was once that mighty bunker, that once safe bastion now reduced to rubble. Her thoughts instantly went to her comrades and fear overtook her mind. Frantically, she tried to get up from the ground, but her land Strikers refused to cooperate, their pneumatic hydraulic systems ripped and torn by some monstrous force. Again and again she strained and strained, but it was all in vain. Tears welled up and flowed down a pair of grief stricken cheeks, the pain of not being able to assist her friends too much to bear.

Suddenly, something emerged from the flames of the destroyed bunker and the crying stopped. The witch's heart skipped a beat and her mouth opened to greet this survivor, but nothing came out. Instead her body quivered in terror as she beheld a small Japanese witch holding two 40mm Bofors and a single 88mm cannon strapped to her back, simply walking through the fire and the flames as if it were nothing but a minor nuisance. One look at the five chevrons on the Strikers told the British all she needed to know. With her good hand she slapped the her side, the side where her pistol should be, but it was long gone. “A survivor?” the enemy witch muttered with some surprise. “I didn't think there would be any after that hit.” She continued to advance, eyeing her helpless prey with the rapaciousness of a fox in a hen house. “You can't escape from me and your shield took too much damage to be of use. You're going to die witch.” she stated, now standing over the Brit. Pointing the left 40mm AA gun straight at her head, the Japanese witch asked, “So are you going to beg now? Please do, I've been dying to hear some good last words for some time now.”

The British witch looked away and then back at her, eyes once filled with fear now burning hot with anger. Her mouth moved and she released a violent stream of spittle at her enemy's face. It didn't reach the target, but she seethed, “Fuck you bitch.” Not even a second went by before Inagaki pulled the trigger, sending a round an inch and a half thick into a human skull, the cranium exploding like a grenade, sending bone, blood, and gore scattering in all directions. The job done, Mami turned her attention to the mop up operation that was being conducted by her orders. All around her the witches were clearing out the remaining bunkers with concentrated fire, obliterating concrete walls with a precision that bordered on graceful. Bodies and parts of bodies littered the earth. Her ears picked up the sounds of gunfire and she smiled upon discovering that none of those came from the enemy. _We hit them without warning and without mercy. As we all should._ She turned and looked out over the water, knowing that the scores of transports were going full speed ahead towards the northern end of Gibraltar. _Simple plan, but effective. We move the entirety of the force up to the north and hit the positions that haven't been assaulted very often. The majority of the defenders are in the south and relocating them would be time consuming. However, we will stagger the landings, hitting them once up there and twice in the south. They won't know what hit them._

An Italian witch descended right next to her, taking good care to not land in the mess that she made of the enemy and gave a sharp salute, “Sergeant Mami, the defenses at Tarifa have been completely destroyed. The second unit also reports total annihilation of the other site as well.”

“Excellent. Tell them to regroup at B7 and revert to escort duty.” Inagaki ordered, not even looking at her subordinate. She waited until she heard the witch start to leave, revving up her Strikers as she lifted off to take a few steps along the beach, watching the rivulets of blood from the dead enter the sea. Suddenly, her left peripheral caught something strange, a single contrail from well beyond the existing flank. Furrowing her brow, she regarded the white trail with suspicion. _We're not alone anymore._

**************

Lynette looked through the scope of her anti tank rifle and panned from side to side, observing the plethora of transports that moved as one towards Gibraltar. The craft were large and bulky, like the Strategos, but had much less armament. Unlike the transports the Allies used, these were covered, their insides protected from attack. “How many do you see from your end?” Aaron asked while gazing at the rest and doing some number crunching in his head.

“Around seventy transports. Contents unknown. They all seem to be in a staggered formation.” Bishop replied.

“As they should be. It'd be foolish for them to hit one specific point. They'll want to spread us out as much as possible and once we've overcommitted ourselves, they'll swoop in at the other flank and roll us.” Divale explained. “If we add in what I've seen, there's a good one hundred and twenty vessels. Going by spatial limitations, there could be anything in those fucking things.”

As he said this the witch took her eyes away from her sights and peered all around the skies for signs of escorts. Upon finding none, her gut tightened with dread. “I can't see any fighters at all. Where are they?” she wondered out loud.

“Probably still mopping up the rest of the support batteries.” the warlock conjectured. “We really shouldn't push our luck out in the open like this. We're going back.”

“Wait a second Aaron!” Lynette cried out, pointing with her left hand off to the right. “I see some movement! If we dive and use the landlines as natural cover, we'll be able to sneak up on them!”

“Lynn,” Aaron stated, his tone slightly elevated, “we're very exposed out here and we have no support of our own if things turn south. I've been ordered to bring you back alive and bring you back alive I will, but if we go on this merry little adventure of yours, I can't guarantee that.”

“I understand that, but any information we can get about what and how many escorts they have could go a long way in helping us concoct an effective strategy and save lives in the process. We'll just do a cursory sweep and run back to The Rock. I promise.” Bishop reasoned.

Divale exhaled hard, his throat making a growling sound. “Alright, but be quick and stay behind me.” he replied, moving on ahead of her and diving down towards the coastline. Thinking about it, he thumbed his communicator to Aurora's frequency and gave a report. “This is Aaron calling Aurora. You read me captain?” he asked.

“Loud and clear. Report.” Juutilainen hailed back, the background filled with the sounds of warning sirens going off and officers giving orders.

“We count over one hundred transports coming in hot. ETA ten minutes. No escorts as far as we see, but we have movement on the far right. Possibly some early birds linking up with the main force, yet we're going to check it out.” Aaron explained.

“I do hope you realize that violating a nation's territorial sovereignty during times of war without authorization carries severe consequences lieutenant. If they see you, the diplomatic shit is going the fan had and claim you with it.” Aurora pointed out.

“I know captain. I'll take the precautions. Will report back once we're done. Divale out.” the warlock stated. After he killed the link he bled off some speed as he neared the low lying coast and extended his left hand to Lynette. “We're cloaking in. Hold on to me.” The witch did so with her right hand and a trickle of blood seeped out of his nose as the magic took effect. It washed over his lips and down over his chin, but he paid it no mind, instead concentrating on navigating the irregular elevation changes in the terrain. Looking around, he could see no beach houses of any kind, a feature that made him uneasy. _Strange. Land like this should be fucking dotted with beach front property homes or even some businesses. Did they clear out when war broke out?_ Suddenly, several loud booms rumbled through the air, going off far off to their left towards the strait.

“Seems like they're crossing now.” Bishop deduced. Tiny explosions followed, the clouds of flame barely inching above the horizon line.

“And paying for it.” Aaron observed. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he could smell the destroyed support batteries at Tarifa, the noxious smoke filling his lungs. “We'll set down here. Get a good look and go.” he commanded. Lynette waited patiently for the warlock to set down, their feet crunching into the lukewarm sand and brushing through some sparse grass. Minding what he said, the witch placed her anti tank rifle back over her shoulder and got her binoculars out. In front of them was a low rise and the two moved to where they could look out over the crest. When they got close enough, Lynette looked through the lenses and gasped in shock and horror. Before her eyes was the defenses at Tarifa. One week ago, they were could've been considered the equal of Gibraltar given how many guns and men that place contained. Now, it was gone, annihilated by the enemy. Fires from gasoline and munitions still burned like funeral pyres and the smoke cloud above it all was monstrous, reminding her of the hive over France many months ago. Dead British soldiers and witches lay everywhere, some in lines, others in piles, and quite a few simply strewn about craters, sandbags, and ruined artillery and AA emplacements. There was no vitrification of the soil which told her that there were no Neuroi here. Despite the land of death she was looking at, there was life, but it wasn't friendly. Walking among the devastation were enemy witches, double checking the deceased for signs of life, smoking, or sharing a celebratory victory drink. “There's a good four full squadrons of them. If they hit the other site, I'm going to guess at least ten in total.” she figured. As she observed them, Bishop noticed a key detail. _They are packing some heavy weaponry. Cannons mostly, but very little in the way of anti air. They have no intentions to engage aerial targets since they know we're effectively grounded._ One of the witches managed to catch her eye, five chevron Japanese one by the looks of her in a simple white top and red skirt, carrying three guns, a 40mm Bofors in her hand that was looking around at her commandwhile standing before a recently slain witch. “Oh my God!” she whispered, blood running cold in her veins.”That's her!”

Aaron scrutinized the tiny witch and took stock of her. _Hmm. From what Elizabeth told me about Katou, this one appears to be very similar. Where they sisters or something?_ Suddenly, the witch whipped her head around in their general direction. Divale furrowed his brow, uneasy at what he was seeing. _Can she hear thoughts as well? Wait a second... she's not looking at us, but behind us._ Taking a risk, he took a quick glace over his right shoulder and realized that there was a large white contrail leading right to the very spot that they were standing. _Oh shit._ His peripheral picked up movement, but he didn't waste time to look for he knew what was going to happen. Grabbing Lynette by the waist with both hands, he swept her off her feet and leapt away from the crest screaming, “Get down!” The pair landed further back and fell hard, the warlock over top the witch and spread his wings over them just before a shot was heard. Not even a second went by before an 88mm shell buried itself into the soft sand behind them and exploded, sending superheated earth and shock waves in all directions. Bishop cried out in surprise which made Aaron wince for she was yelling right into his left ear. “We got to go! We have to go now!” he shouted, picking her up and unslinging his machine gun from his back. Lynette revved her Strikers and pushed the throttle to the maximum. Knowing that going up into the air would just make them easy targets, they retreated the way they came in, using the now rapidly fading contrail as a guide. Divale let loose several streams of lead at the enemy witch who dared fired upon them, but she sidestepped them all, her small size and speed making her hard to pin down. _Guess Lynn wasn't joking about this bitch._ The rest of the enemy force recognized the peril that their commanding officer was in and started taking to the skies in an attempt to prevent them from escaping. Firing one handed as he flew behind Lynette, he started to tap the speaker to his communicator. “Aurora! This is Aaron! We've been spotted and are heading back! We're going landside not by waterside. Let the gunners know!” Aaron shouted over the bark of his weapon.

“Alright. How many did you spot?” Juutilainen asked.

“Bishop counted a full four squadrons. That number could very well be over twice that though if they manage to regroup. They're mostly armed with long range ordinance.” Divale answered, taking a few more potshots.

“Get back here ASAP and fly into our section. Stop for nothing Aaron. Juutilainen out.” the witch ordered. The warlock killed the link just moments before the enemy witches started firing their cannons at them. Shells of every caliber screamed through the air and peppered the ground underneath them, sending plumes of sand and earth into their faces and stomachs. The concussive force jarred their bones and they strained to maintain control.

Aaron held onto the machine gun with his right hand and flexed the fingers to his left, little sparks of electricity manifesting between his digits. Aiming carefully at a small group of witches, he intoned “Catena fulgur.” Streaks of crackling lightning shot from his fingertips and arced through the hail of cannon fire. The projectiles were so quick that they didn't have enough time to react before the blast hit them. Four witches were caught in discharge, the electricity racing through their bodies, burning skin, popping eyeballs, and igniting cloth. They fell down into the water nothing more than smoking charred meat, the sea sizzling upon impact. The warlock smiled. _Man I wish Perrine was here to see this._ Not to be outdone, Bishop also took part in the defense, rolling onto her back and sending aimed shots downwind. Some missed due to the evasive maneuvers execute by the foe, but several did hit and hit hard. One lucky shot ricocheted off a shield and buried itself into a leg, taking the limb clean off at the hip, blood spurting everywhere. Shock quickly set in and the witch plummeted towards the land. The force of impact was so heavy that the body bounced a few times before rolling to a stop, at that point nothing more than a mangled mess. Lynette looked over her shoulder and saw the outline of The Rock.

“Adjust positions!” she called out to Aaron, veering more towards the water. Divale followed her, the cannon shots getting fewer and fewer as they ventured into the range of support fire from Gibraltar. However, nothing came to help them and it made both witch and warlock very uneasy. Lynette took a quick scan at the defenses and found the opening that would take them into where Wilma and Aurora were. In fact, her sister was right smack dab in the middle of the hole, jumping up and down and waving like a cheerleader who had forgotten her pompoms. Bishop gently tapped the breaks and closed in, gesturing for her sibling to get out of the way. The message was received and Peterborough moved clear off to the right side, giving ample enough space to fly into. The British witch got to safety first with the warlock right on her heels. Lynette barely cut the power to her Strikers before she was wrapped up in the arms of Wilma, tears of joyful relief running down her face.

“Oh thank God you're okay!” she wept. “When I heard that you were attacked I-”

“I'm fine Wilma. I'm fine.” Lynette replied, trying to calm her sister down and get out of her grip at the same time. She looked over at Aaron who was beginning to walk towards Aurora and added, “I was in good hands.”

Divale gave her a nod and then regarded Juutilainen. “Was there any reason that the batteries didn't fire?” he inquired. “We were low to the water line and wouldn't have hit us.”

“They didn't want to fire upon Spanish territory or waste ammunition.” Aurora explained. The warlock looked away back towards the sea and threw his hands up into the air in sheer frustration. “I know it's bullshit, but that's what happened. They want to hit the real important targets.”

“They won't have much time to wait ladies.” Aaron stated, gesturing with his neck towards the west. All three witches looked at what he was seeing and they could make tiny black dots hovering over the waterline. A few seconds went by and they were joined by scores of others, some in the air, but the vast majority of them on the waters surface itself. _Their forces have linked up. It won't be long now._

****************

The MG 34 recoil barely registered on Hanna's right arm as she fired on the move, pulling up hard. The Neuroi fighter was caught out of position and paid with its life, disintegrating into hundreds of white shards. Two more of them were higher up and tried to veer out and away from the incoming threat. Marseilles saw the opportunity and took full advantage, riding the momentum and executing a picture perfect aileron roll. The maneuver made her properly engage both targets within three seconds. Most average pilots wouldn't have the control or focus for such a feat, but the German witch was not an average pilot. Timing her shots to the relative orientation of the bogeys, the enemies were quickly wiped out, resulting in a broad smile across her face. That grin faded away into a hard lip curl of hate upon seeing an enemy witch charging at her, firing all the way with her MG 42. Marseilles jinked hard left to dodge the incoming fire and bent her right leg at an angle, making her duck under her foe, but not enough for the rotors to fully clear. By the time the enemy noticed what was going on, it was far too late to do anything about it. Hanna's right Striker rotor bit into the shields, the blue barrier chiming away like a bevy of alarm clocks. The aetheric energies chipped, cracked, and ultimately gave under the pressure. Flesh and bone met revolving steel and the witch screamed in pain as her face turned into bloody strips, the fins chewing through the skull and brain within seconds, spreading blood and gore all up and down Marseilles leg. Shaking the debris loose, the lieutenant took a quick assessment of her surroundings. The aerial battle was still ongoing and neither side was gaining any advantage over the other at all. Everywhere one looked, pilots both male and female were locked in a bitter struggle, fighting their own fights with no idea whether they'd get support. It was a chaotic mess that was getting worse by the second and it infuriated her to no end. _We can't keep going tit for tat with these fuckers. The fleet down there needs our support._ “Hanna!” Raisa's voice rang over the comms. “I've found a possible entry point for our bombers! Make for grid reference F8!”

“Copy that! Have Edytha and the rest of our squadron know and link up there! Marseilles out!” Hanna replied happily. She killed the link and revved her Striker engines hard, speeding through the storm. Zigzagging as she went, the witch constantly had her head on a swivel, wary of being attacked at any second. Bullets screamed all around her and the noise of redlining engines and rotors was deafening. It was as if all of Hell decided to have a party in the skies. Through the fog of war, she spied her wingman Pottgen taking shots of opportunity at anything that wasn't friendly, Neumann right by her side. The air commander noticed her approach and nodded. “How much resistance is there?” she asked once she was close enough.

“We have at least seven bogeys, five Neuroi and two witches.” Edytha answered, reloading her MG 42 without even looking.

“If we can take them down and enlarge that point, Rudel and Beurling can lead an attack on the enemy ships protecting the strait.” Hanna surmised. “Both of you on me. Take out the Neuroi first and the witches second.”

“Copy Marseilles.” Raisa responded, racking the bolt to her machine gun. The other German pilots arranged themselves to either side of the lieutenant and the small flight veered into the F line, a corridor that started out on the inner edge of the main fight. As the battle raged on, the line shifted more towards the D line, making the enemy presence there thin. Weaving around the chaos, they quickly made it and saw their targets at the same time there enemies saw them. There would be no surprise for either side. Trickery wouldn't carry the day here, just skill, will, and lead. The Neuroi fired first bracketing the general area in an attempt to get their foe to make a fatal mistake. However the witches stayed in formation and calmly returned fire, their aim taking out three in seconds. The fighters spun up and flipped over, getting a better engagement angle. That was when the enemy witches sprung into action, executing death spins as they fired their weapons. Left with no choice, the three pilots had to break ranks. They did so quickly, narrowly avoiding the attack. Marseilles went right and conducted an Immelmann, looping back up and leveling off. Aiming for one of the witches, she was a hairs breadth of pulling the trigger when all of a sudden, the woman's head just disappeared in a flash of blood and gore, red mist replacing the skull. Her eyes widened and she tried to find out where the shot came from.

“Looks like we came just in time.” a familiar voice observed. “Twelve high.” Taking a chance, the lieutenant glanced up and saw Rudel and Elizabeth diving down, the colonel firing more shots from her 37mm at a Neuroi that was tailing Pottgen, wiping it off the face of the earth. Beurling made a beeline for the remaining witch brandishing her kukri. Her foe tried to down her, firing and jinking hard in every direction to get her to overshoot. The Canadian was no fool and focused on where she was going to strike, barrel rolling as to make herself smaller. It was to much for the enemy pilot to deal with and in a fit of desperation, she charged swinging the machine gun at her head butt first. Elizabeth sliced upwards, the steel of her knife slicing through the stamped metal of the machine gun. Now utterly defenseless, there was nothing for the enemy witch to do but watch helplessly as the kukri came back down and buried itself in the center of her chest. Beurling gave the blade a hard twist and yank, enlarging the already fatal wound before kicking the soon to be dead witch away. Blood drops arced as the pilot fell down and away, the eyes glazing over.

Neumann sprayed with her MG 42 and mopped up the rest of the Neuroi in a hail of gunfire. “Splendid work ladies.” she commented, wiping the sweat on her brow with her right sleeve.

“But we're far from done.” Marseilles pointed out. Regarding the new arrivals she ordered, “Get flights one, seven, and nine to follow you down. We'll stay here and hold this open for as long as we can. Hit them hard Colonel Rudel.”

“Yes ma'am.” the German replied. With a gesture of the hand to let her friend know what was about to happen, she revved the Strikers and the two looped up and away. “Attention flights one, seven, and nine! We have an opening! Follow me in and stay close! Rudel out!” she rattled out as she began to level off and wait for the bombers. The pair didn't have to wait long as the cavalry arrived, three full squadrons of them armed with torpedoes and heavy cannons for anti ship combat.

“Let's go people!” Elizabeth roared. “Dive hard! Dive!” Linking up, the entire force dove through the opening that was made for them. Gritting their teeth as the G forces rattled their frames, they sped through the still gigantic dogfight that was rapidly getting smaller and smaller with every passing second. Looking below them, a huge dark smoke cloud could be seen, obscuring their vision.

“Blow through and start to level at five thousand!” Hanna commanded. A chorus of affirmative answered her and Striker engines started to make a high pitched wail as they descended. The witch counted down the seconds in her head, knowing exactly when she had to pull up and level. Upon entering the smoke cloud, she kept her breathing to a minimum as to prevent her from coughing and losing focus. _Can't have that. I've seen too many pilots do that and lose track of where they are. So many unnecessary casualties._ The haze made her eyes sting, causing tears to well up. Rudel simply blinked them away and barked, “Level! Level! Level!” Arching her back and applying the brakes, Hanna fought the momentum and succeeded. As she did so, the smoke dissipated, revealing many burning vessels, their magazines cored by beamer fire as their hulls went from plates to slag with the impacts. Bobbing up and down like corks in the water were hundreds of living and dead sailors, surrounding their sinking or floundering ships like moths to a flame. Doing their best to avoid running into them were scores of other ships, deftly navigating the water either firing on the move with massive batteries that shook the air like thunder or moving in to to help the stranded men. The normally blue waters were now purple with all the blood. Some of them saw their approach and did their best to signal them, crying out help or words of encouragement. _Wish I can stay and get you all out of this hellhole, but I've got a job to do. Good luck men and fight on._ The rest of combined squadron fell in behind her, staying low to avoid incoming fire from the enemy ships and their own.

“Stay low people,” Elizabeth cautioned. “and remember to leave the small fry to the cannons! Save your bombs and torpedoes for the big targets!” Beurling stayed close to Rudel who looked positively unfazed as they raced through the strait, curling around destroyers and cruisers that continued to slug it out with the foe who was rapidly closing, the black and red contrasting sharply with the surrounding waters. One nearby cruiser took a direct hit to the command tower, the steel folding in on itself as it melted into slag. She turned away from the sight with a wince, knowing that the men inside were all dead in an instant. _Least it was painless._ Looking out over the horizon, she could see plenty of torpedo boats still prowling around, searching for targets. They took notice of the flight and began to conduct evasive maneuvers, firing on the move.

“Prepare to engage on my mark!” Rudel bellowed, aiming her 37mm cannons at a trio of fleeing vessels. Beams flew up all around her, some coming so close as to nearly singe her uniform, but she still maintained an eerie coolness. _Ready, steady, now!_ “Fire at will! Take your targets and go!” she hollered. Large caliber weaponry boomed from every quarter, the shells slamming into the enemy ships or sending geysers of seawater high into the air. Hanna's preaimed shots sailed true, the boats breaking in half with the hits or simply exploding into white shards as they died. Though the enemy was on the run, they were far from defenseless and focused their fire on the slower bombers. Air frames and shields took hit after hit, the planes sustaining far greater damage than the witches. One took a hit to the cockpit and dropped like a stone into the water while two more had their wings clipped by the concentrated barrages, the aircraft spinning like wounded birds as they hit the waves, breaking into several pieces as they skidded and toppled end over end. Despite the losses, the flight continued to progress into the outer fringes of the enemies AA perimeter, the destroyers already angling themselves for the shots. “Continue to stay tight and low! They can't depress their guns enough!” Beurling advised. She held the kukri close to her and concentrated, focusing on channeling her aetheric aura. Her hair started to take on a bluish shine and flutter irregularly in the air, defying the laws of gravity. This energy flowed from her head, down through the right arm, and into the blade, the steel glowing and vibrating with barely contained magic. Eyeing a destroyer that fired a salvo that took down another bomber with ruthless efficiency, she raised the knife up and brought it down hard, yelling, “Final Cut!” Upon uttering those words, a blast of aetheric force emitted from the kukri, spinning like a blue discus right at the enemy ship. The vessel aimed at the threat and fired, but the beams simply passed through, having no effect at all. It closed the distance within a few heartbeats and slammed into the neuroified bulkhead, shattering the plates. However, the pain didn't stop there. It continued to progress through the stricken ship like a drill bit burrowing into a piece of wood and elongated itself, causing more internal damage. The fringes of the blow eventually found the core and the ship detonated from within, expanding like a blown up balloon and burst into white death shards, causing massive waves to crash into her sister ships. As if it was a signal to action, the torpedo bombers set their munitions and dropped them into the water. Elizabeth watched the slender weapons sink like stones and bob back up, creating the tell tale tracer waves as they sped toward their targets. The other destroyers saw the incoming torpedo attack and started to veer away, but even with advance warning, there were simply too many dangers to account for. Plume after plume of seawater registered the direct hits that the ships were taking, whole sections being blown away. Some went down into the depths while others remained seaworthy, arranging themselves in a crisscrossing pattern to hide their exposed weak spots.

Rudel smiled at the damage they were inflicting and rose just a hair over a rapidly sinking engine prop blade to get a closer look at the interior of the enemy's defenses. Her smile vanished as she saw the enemy battleship rotate her massive guns towards them. _Oh hell! They were expecting us to do this! We've been had!_ “Everyone clear out! They lured us in! Return to the entry point!” she screamed, circling around the wreckage and firing round after round at whatever Neuroi she found. Elizabeth linked back up with her within a heartbeat and the rest of the remaining flight began turning back around. Hanna silently prayed that they would make it out for she knew just how vulnerable a retreating ground attack force could be when the enemy was still in command of the field. _As we rise up and away, we bleed off precious speed. We become slow and easy to predict. Please God let most of them make it._

**************

Matilda pointed with her spear at the enemy witches and the batteries of the Parizhskaya Communa fired all at once, rocking the mighty vessel hard, yet her feet remained firmly planted on the gundeck. She sneered at them from afar, watching them flee like the cowards they were from the ships that still remained. _You hit hard that's for sure, but now it's my turn._ The crimson beams raced through the air and engulfed the immediate area that was targeted. Plane and witch alike were hit and fell from the sky, their forms either exploding in midair, falling into the sea, or simply vanished into nothing. _Let's see you come back now._

***************

Inagaki said nothing, but the rest of her squadron knew what she was about to do before she did it. As one, they dove down at their transports and spaced themselves out as to protect them from direct artillery fire until they hit the beaches. The tiny boxy fleet she commanded showed no signs of slowing their advance, instead going even faster, their contents so eager to clash with the enemy that their will seemed to possess the engines to work harder. “Fire at will!” she commanded, her voice echoing over the lapping waves. A chorus of heavy ordinance replied in full, shell after shell fired at The Rock of Gibraltar, that plucky bastion that had held out for months against all odds. Puffs of smoke and the orange blooms of detonations pockmarked the massive stone fortress, clouding the immediate areas with dense white clouds. They continued to advance, firing as they went, the ejected casings plopping into the sea. It wasn't long before the foe returned fire, the defiant roar of artillery loud and clear. Looking up Mami stared at the barrage as it arced towards them, the sky alight with searing hot lines of white hot violence. Throwing up her shields, she and the other witches veered this way and that, avoiding the incoming fire and also taking glancing blows as to protect them. Her shield chimed loudly as a shot caromed off the right side and barely made a sound as it hit the water with barely a rippled to mark its passing. The transport that she just saved waved its beamer turret at her, giving its silent thanks. The sight made her glad, but others weren't so lucky. Fortunate bounces and ill timed maneuvers resulted in unnecessary casualties. In her head, the witch calculated the butchers bill and shelved the figure for later review. Suddenly, just off to her left, another transport went up followed by three more within the span of four seconds. One of the witches saw this and raced to do something about the slaughter, but no sooner did she move, than her head took a bullet, taking off half the skull. What remained of the brain fell out in bloody gray chunks as the lifeless body crashed into the water. Inagaki grew angry and traced the shots as they came in again and again. It was on the far left flank of The Rock and she realized exactly where the fire was coming from. _It's over there again isn't it?_

*********************

“Nice shot Lynn! Keep it going!” Aurora congratulated as she rammed another 75mm shell into her cannon. The British witch said nothing beyond racking the slide once more and firing. All around her was noise, the sounds of artillery going off all up and down the line, the barks of AA, and the call outs of spotters telling the defenders where to aim through the smoke and rock dust. Wilma was close by, firing from her cannon while Aaron took it upon himself to spread his wings out and form an additional barricade for additional safety. He too was firing his 17 pound gun, going through his ammunition at an alarming rate. The Finnish witch said nothing about though, knowing that the warlock wasn't prone to wasting his shots. She aimed at a transport trying to zigzag out of the way and pulled the trigger. Her shot cleared a good section of the fog of war away as the discharged round exited the barrel. It flew true and the enemy ship took it on the chin, going up in white shards. Normally, Juutilainen would casually move on to the next target, but now with the way clear for a moment, she saw that the enemy witches were rotating towards them with their cannons. “Hunker down! They're targeting us!” she yelled, falling flat on the concrete floor. Divale saw this with his vision and steeled himself for the barrage. The rest of the 31st instinctively moved behind him, using his angelic wings for cover. Seconds later, the rounds came in and they came in hot. The first few missed high, sending more rock dust and small boulders toppling from above, knocking down sections of the sandbags. Those following it were better aimed, whizzing just over their heads and racing down the narrow corridor before exploding near the turn off, filling the room with deafening noise or they struck Aaron's wings dead on, the impacts making his boots squeak as the soles resisted the vicious force that threatened to send him flying backwards. Gritting his teeth, the warlock held his ground, blood streaming down from his eyes and nose as his magic was called up. Glancing behind him, his friends looked right back at him with worried stares. He absentmindedly smiled and shook his head, allaying them of their fears. The bombardment continued unabated, and Aurora crawled up towards Aaron, noting that his skin and wings were taking a hell of a beating. “Can you hold?!” she screamed up at him.

“I can hold all God damn day if you ordered it captain!” Divale shouted back at her. “This is nothing! Yet, I think we might want to vacate this place! A few more hits above us, they'll make another vector to attack us from!”

“I agree! Let's go next door! It's harder to hit!” Lynette concurred.

“I don't see any choice in the matter!” Wilma retorted. “I really hate the thought of being buried in my work!”

Juutilainen soaked it all in and feverishly crunched the possibilities. _Our position is untenable. We have to relocate._ Nodding, she stated, “Alright! Let me do a little something first!” Getting gingerly up to her feet, she tapped Aaron on the right shoulder, telling him to give her some sort of opening. Divale bent his elbow up, giving her maybe a fraction of an inch of space, but it was more than enough to do the job. Summoning her magic and concentrating it in her right hand, Aurora bellowed, “Freya!” The aetheric ice manifested just a few feet past the opening, crackling as it came into being and sealing up every bit of daylight. Once it was fully sealed, Aaron tucked in his wings and got up to his feet, looking over the wall of ice. All in the room could hear the cannon shells hitting, but the sounds of detonation were lessened and dull. Not even the most miniscule crack appeared in the ice. “Let's move.” Aurora commanded, taking the lead and making her way back through the corridor. The witches got up from their positions and followed suit, Aaron being the last to leave, watching the rear. As Juutilainen got into the main hallway, she saw an absolute mess before her eyes. Men and women were running to and fro everywhere, moving crates of ammo stacked two or even three high, their faces red from the exertion. The hard bangs of AA and the heavy booms of artillery echoed up and down the corridor, some of it so heavy in spots that rock dust fell from the ceiling above. Others dragged the wounded out to be treated by the nearby medics who had set up a triage nearby, their hands soaked in blood and faces dead to the world from the grisly sights. Despite the veritable mountain of human suffering splayed out in all manner of horrible poses and ways, the doctors remained committed to their duty, going about their treatments in silence.

Wilma stopped to observe what was going on for a moment and then resumed her trek, walking side by side with the warlock until they got into the corridor where he let her go first due to lack of room. The moment she took her first step in, her arrival was greeting with a monstrous clang of a breech being closed hard. A shrill scream was heard and the round inside the 17 pound cannon went off, the whole back end going backwards until the casing was ejected, the brass clattering to the floor where it rolled into a group of others. The place was filled with the acrid smoke of powder discharge and it made things so hard to see that one would have to be within a foot just to make anything out.

Aaron had no such problems with his enhanced vision. The witches were doing their jobs masterfully, executing every task with precision and speed. There was no obligatory salute for any of them, just a quick nod of thanks. He moved on up to the very edge of the narrow opening and looked out towards the beaches. Despite their best efforts to be quick about it, the enemy transports were within thirty seconds of landing and depositing their contents. “Set up a firing line!” Aurora ordered, waving her hand. Knowing that they wouldn't be able to fire the artillery piece at this range and keep up a steady rate of fire, the witches of the 610th along with the 31st did as they were told, grabbing their machine guns, rifles, and whatever else they had and pointed them outwards. One of the transports veered towards them and Juutilainen gestured towards with her left hand. All understood that it would be the first target. The Finnish witch ejected the AP round from her 75mm and loaded a HE shell. _The moment that door opens, they're going to get a very warm welcome._ She completed the process the moment the landing craft got within standard disembarking range, however, instead of dropping the ramp into the water, it continued to go forwards, the bottom of the small vessel sprouting four legs and finding purchase in the wet sand. It was then that the front opened. Sensing the opportunity, Aurora aimed and began to squeeze the trigger until she heard a chorus of voices that sounded utterly out of place on the battlefield. _What in the world is this? This has got to be a trick? It sounds like children._

As if often the case in war, reality was often times cruel and this was no exception. Pouring from the ramp, yelling at the top of their young voices and holding weapons that were taller than they were, was a full squad of children, clad in hastily done up uniforms. The sleeves were long enough to go over the hands and the boots were comically untied and too big for their feet, but there was nothing funny about they way the boys and girls arrayed against them looked at the defenders with rage in their eyes and hearts. Juutilainen's hands started to shake as they ran across the beach, churning up the sand or tripping over shoelaces and rocks. Cold sweat ran down the back of her neck and try as she could, she couldn't find the strength to pull the trigger to her weapon. In fact, the room was eerily silent as not a single soul fired upon the enemy, the shock at knowing who they were about to kill stilling their hands from slaughter. Suddenly, that quiet was broken with harsh barks from a machine gun. Glancing over at who was finding the will to do the unthinkable, Aurora saw Divale panning his gun to and fro, spraying the enemy with a hail of lead. The children cried pitifully as they were chewed up by the gunfire, their bodies utterly torn apart mercilessly. The warlock transferred his machine gun to his left hand and used his right to pick up his cannon, pointing that at the transport which was moving up along with what remained of the squad. He pulled the trigger and the top of the movable cover was erased and the whole thing fell over backwards, melting away into white shards before it even hit the ground. “Those aren't children out there ladies.” Aaron stated harshly as he continued to reap a heavy toll on the invaders. “They may look and sound like the genuine article, but trust me, they're not. Those are enemies. Anyone who takes one step out of those transports is to be cut down with extreme prejudice. I know it's hard to fathom for the lot of you, but that's the way it is. Would you rather they get up to the walls and watch them shoot you point blank while you're frozen? Get the lead out and do your fucking jobs.”

“He's right.” Juutilainen agreed, finding her resolve once more. “Kill them. Kill them all.” She spied another transport about to land and fired, the round striking the target head on and sending it back to whence it came. Her actions provided the much needed spark and the line began to fire. While glad that that was over, the witch was deeply worried for dozens more of those landing craft were crawling ashore with Neuroi marching alongside the child soldiers, the freems of their beamers irregularly complimenting the pops of rifles. _Hardly any of them are getting taken out. At this rate, there will be too many to handle and we'll get pinned. Shit. What do we do to salvage this one out?_ A thought raced through her mind and it gave her the shudders as it did. With the sole exceptions of Hanna and Raisa, no one else had seen what Aaron did during the battle of Alexandria, but she had heard about it through various conversations with the rest of the squadron. A gentle tap was felt on her left hand and she looked up to see Divale giving her a questing look. She swallowed deeply and uttered reluctantly, “I think I need to order you to do what you did at Alexandria.”

*****************

“If you pick one up watch it!” Marseilles barked as she downed another witch with her MG 34, managing to get a hit along the aetheric fuel cell chamber and igniting the volatile material within. She turned away from the explosion and scanned for additional targets that were coming near the opening that they were desperately defending at all costs. Quite a few of their number had fallen in keeping it open and the enemy seemed hellbent on throwing bodies at them. Ammunition was running perilously low and though they all tried their best not to show it, they were getting worn out. _Damn it Rudel, why don't you talk to me? I've been trying to hail you for the past few minutes demanding a status report. Where are you?_

“Lieutenant Marseilles, this is Colonel Rudel! We're coming up through the gap now! Standby!” the aforementioned Hanna called out over the communicator.

The German witch breathed a sigh of relief and instructed, “All pilots near my location! We have friendlies coming through! Do not engage! Repeat, do not engage!” As soon as she finished relaying that order, the first of the bombing flight emerged. It was Rudel with Beurling in tow, looking positively worse for wear given the condition of their uniforms. They were singed from near impacts and there were burn marks on their hands and the exposed flesh of their legs. A couple of torpedo bombers and witches also came up, but as Marseilles did the count in her head, her heart began to sink as she found the total to be well short of fifty percent. “Give me covering fire! Pottgen and Neumann with me! Now!” she barked. Her words were heeded by three mostly fresh pilots who grimly smiled at the task before them. Hanna felt the pangs of remorse in her heart at giving them this task, but she knew that such things couldn't be helped. _I need that sitrep and I need it where I'm not going to get shot at._ Raisa and Edytha soon joined her and together they sped back towards the rear of the fighting where their friends gathered, taking long swallows from their canteens or pouring water over their burns and grimacing in pain. “What the hell happened down there Colonel Rudel?” she inquired when she was close enough.

The colonel spat a long line of water from her mouth that she had been swishing for a good minute to clear her parched palate and explained, “We we in picture perfect and took out a vast majority of those damned torpedo boats and punched right on through the enemy's outer AA perimeter. As soon as we went past that, the Parizhskaya Communa was right there waiting for us. We didn't expect their battleship to accurately preaim for us with such precision. Her batteries and AA wiped out a good chunk of what we had, but the damnest thing was, it kept on hitting us well into the actual western end of the strait itself. Aaron was not joking that that fucking thing had some serious defensive capabilities.”

Marseilles was about to say something but she noticed that Pottgen was listening in on a transmission. A few seconds went by and she killed the link before reporting, “That was Admiral Yamamoto. He says that the Casablanca landings were successful and that those ships attached to that operation will be coming through the strait soon.”

“How long?” the lieutenant queried.

“Eight minutes.” the pilot officer replied.

“That's far too long.” Edytha muttered. “We need more firepower through that gap if we're going to force the issue.”

“Do we have anymore bombers at all?” Elizabeth asked. “If we can hit the bitch from a different angle, we just might catch her off guard.”

Rudel shook her head at her wingman and stated, “There's nothing left Beurling. If there was, we would've received it at the beginning.” She then popped a nasty looking blister on her upper left thigh, biting her lip hard. “We need reinforcements to distract that ship, to get it to overcommit its armament.”

Suddenly, a voice came over Marseilles comms. She tried to listen to it, but it was in a language that she couldn't understand. “What the hell is this?” she uttered out loud. Regarding the air commander, she asked, “Can you make any sense of this?”

Edytha switched up the frequency and listened in. It only took a few seconds before her eyes widened in surprise. “It's Italian.” she illuminated with a broad smile on her face. “A small detachment of their fleet has been moving in from the Balearic Islands since the attack began. They'll be in engagement range with the Parizhskaya Communa in the next six minutes.”

******************

Inagaki fired again and again at whatever target presented itself as her troops started to flood the beaches, child and Neuroi alike charging the enemy defenses. It was like clockwork with her now, the action of pulling the trigger, reaching for another shell, opening the breech, and slamming the round home hard. Looking at the spectacle between shots, she was pleased to see that the ploy was working. _So little return fire. Easy to shoot an adult or a Neuroi, but when you're confronted with children, you lose some of that courage._ Passing over the bodies that lay strewn on the enemy's far right flank, she felt a touch of guilt over doing something like this, but it quickly washed away like the waves taking sand back into the water. Her gaze made her look over her shoulder at the second wave of transports that were getting closer and closer to their destination. _It won't be long now. Soon this so called Rock will fall and we will then regroup with the main force over the strait and sink that fleet._ Suddenly, her eyes picked up movement in her peripheral vision and she focused on it. It was coming from the ice sealed opening where some pesky enemy soldiers were once stationed. Mami's brow furrowed in puzzlement as it was still frozen solid. _Surely I must be imagining things. Nothing ca-_ Her thoughts died as the wall of ice started to slowly rotate on some unseen axis, the grinding sound of frozen water and rock loud and unnerving to hear. A shape materialized and it made the witch's heart stop. Aligning itself in the exact center was the unmistakable rounded orbs of a human iris and pupil, looking straight at her. The pupil then expanded far beyond the boundaries of the iris and well into the white of what could be called the eye. All around the immediate vicinity, troops stopped engaging the enemy and gawked at the thing in fearful bewilderment. Then, out of the darkness came a pair of black barbed leather whips, the sharp silver metal shafts in the shape of wolf fangs.

“I see some children in need of a spanking.” a booming voice echoed as the weapons danced in the wind even though there wasn't even a breeze. The barbs started moving irregularly, splitting in half and howling like the animals they came from. Frightened children started to back away from the sight or simply collapse in heaps, crying in terror. More and more of the whips came into being, the lengths easily eclipsing that of a telephone pole. Then, out of the gloom, came their bearer, waltzing onto to the battlefield as if he was the host of some grand ball. Standing well over ten feet tall was a towering naked inferno with human like features, two large wings spread wide and the eyes blacker than the deepest pits of the sea. It walked on the sand, the granules instantly turning into molten glass that trickled outwards from his foot. It then regarded the terrified humans with a look that resembled that of a disappointed parent and merely flicked both wrists. Though awfully slight, the move was powerful enough for the whip to spin and lash out forcefully. Anything caught in the way of the weapons died, bodies violently torn apart, the screams of the dying and soon to be dead filling the air. Yet the slaughter was not over by any means. The creature let go of the right whip and instead of falling to the ground, it defied reality and floated, straightening out to its full length. The barbs began to elongate, growing outwards. Once they achieved their appropriate length, the being turned away and it sent the whip flying down the length of the beaches ripping and tearing into whatever it met.

Inagaki couldn't believe what she was seeing and it caused cold sweat to flow down the back of her neck. _My God! This is what the warlock can do?!_ She shook her head and bit her tongue, using the pain to get over the shock. Turning to her fellow pilots she yelled, “Shoot that bastard! Kill him now!” Her cries spurred the witches to action and large caliber shells screamed through the air at the warlock. Mami followed the shots, watching them speed towards the target. _Take this you son of a bitch!_ The warlock noticed the incoming doom and held up his right hand as if he were pushing a door open. Just before impact, the shells simply stopped dead in their tracks and floated in the air. The witch's jaw dropped at the sight and her 88mm cannon suddenly felt very heavy in her hands. The walking pyre sighed out of sheer boredom and let them all drop uselessly into the water. Then, he stuck the other whip that he held in his left hand into the sea, smiling at the enemy as he did so. Inagaki got a very uneasy feeling and she instantly ordered, “Everyone pull up! All craft pull up!” She revved her Strikers and climbed, the rest of her squadrons hot on her heels. They didn't stop until they were at least a thousand feet up, hovering in place. Mami looked down at the approaching transports and saw that the warlock was very much paying attention to them. _What is he going to do?_ No sooner did she think that thought than more than a dozen tentacles of an ancient sea monster rose from the depths and curled themselves like boa constrictors around several of the watercraft. Even from her height, she could hear the cracking of the Neuroi's armor and its pained cries. Then with a hard snap, they were split in half, whatever they were ferrying lost to the deep blue waves and the death shards. As soon as one met its end, another was taken out just as quickly and mercilessly. Inagaki's heart sank and she hung her head in defeat, knowing that the attack had failed and they had no choice but to retreat. “Let's regroup at Tangiers ladies. There's nothing more that we can do here.” Several of her pilots tried to convince her to stay and fight, but one angry sideways glance later and they fell into line. As one, the flight turned on its heels and beat a hasty getaway from The Rock and the warlock. Mami didn't look back, but instead thumbed her communicator to Matilda's frequency to give her a report.

***************

A torrent of water fell on Matilda's head as she continued to stay on the gun deck of the Parizhskaya Communa, directing the battle like some conductor would a symphony. The batteries fired again, taking out a heavy cruiser with a direct hit to the citadel, filling the air with fire, metal, bodies, and semi molten slag from the beamers. Despite the kill, it wasn't enough to resuscitate the situation, one that was rapidly going from bad to worse. Her spotters reported sighting a small detachment of the Italian fleet that was moving in to engage the rear echelons, and she had to reorganize the front on the fly, ending several destroyers to act as a vanguard. It was pitifully little considering the circumstances, but they was little to send. While the enemy took quite a few casualties, they suffered just as bad. Out of all the ships that Matilda started out with, barely a quarter of that remained. To aid in the defense, she had ordered the all Neuroi fighters and witches to create a perimeter over the ships, acting as a fighter screen. “Matilda? This is Inagaki. Can you hear me? Over.” the familiar voice of the sergeant rang over her comms.

“Loud and clear. What's going on at Gibraltar? Over?” Matilda replied, directing the battleship to rotate her turrets.

A small silence reigned for a good few seconds before Mami answered, “We failed old friend. That warlock just single handedly wiped out our entire invasion force like it was nothing to him. He simply walked out, waved his hands, and people started dying. Nothing we did could hurt him. I'm currently on route to Tangiers to rearm and rest for the upcoming enemy landings there. You should consider moving there too.”

“That's a negative sergeant.” Matilda curtly responded, ducking behind a small stanchion to narrowly avoid a shell that grazed over the top of the gun deck before harmlessly falling into the water, the brass casing leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. “The Italians have secretly sent a detachment to cut off our retreat and those ships that aided the Casablanca landings are surely coming through right now. It's too late to run now. If I do try, it will expose ourselves too much and negate our advantage. We need to buy our troops more time to dig in. I fight here Inagaki.”

“Where do you think that warlock is going to wander off to? He's going to get sent over to you. You all told me to run when things got hot, so what will you do?” Mami countered, not buying the reasons of her superior.

“I will cross that bridge when I get there. Until then, I will resist them with everything I got. Matilda out.” the warrior replied. After she cut the link, she raised her spear and brought it straight down, causing the batteries to fire again. Another ship went down, a destroyer that tried to launch some torpedoes into the water. Keeping her head on a swivel, she got up from the stanchion and walked down the gun deck towards the rear of the ship, not minding in the slightest the chaos going on all around her. Matilda could hear the radio chatter going on above her, squadron leaders calling for ammo counts, exhorting their fellow pilots to greater feats of resolve. She shook her head derisively as she soon reached the last rear turret. _Embolden them all you want ladies, but there's no victory here, just a death of a thousand cuts._ Looking out over the horizon, her witch powers allowed her to see the rapidly approaching Italian ships just seconds before they fired. They had a sizable force consisting of eight destroyers, six cruisers, and a battleship, a grand total of fifteen. Under most circumstances, such a threat wouldn't even matter, but with them near their only means of retreat made them very dangerous indeed. The five destroyers were outranged and outgunned. Three went up in balls of fire and white death shards before sinking. Without any effective means of countering the enemy, the destroyers reversed their engines and started to zigzag, launching forwards mounted torpedoes as they did so.

That was when, Matilda's intuition kicked in, but it wasn't directed at the sea. She looked up into the sky where directly behind her, many thousands of feet up, the remains of the enemy's airforces were diving down on them, hungry for blood. Squinting her eyes, she could make out dozens of forms, yet the one at the front stood out, one armed with an MG 34, her blond hair billowing behind her head wildly. Matilda reached for her sling and placed a stone into the pocket. “All forces fire! Don't let them through! Protect the Parizhskaya Communa at all costs!” she demanded.

*******************

“Break through and don't stop! Mop this mess up ladies and gentlemen! We got this!” Marseilles yelled at the top of her lungs as she picked out her first target, a Neuroi fighter that was about to unleash its beams. Totally ignoring the order to fire, the lieutenant pulled the trigger to her weapon. A stream of bullets sped through the air and downed the Neuroi in an instant. Many more craft, both mortal and not, took hit after hit before going up from the scores of other guns that were brought to bear. The combatants closed in and got entangled once more in a fight that for once the attackers had the upper hand. Through the firefight, Hanna could see a small gap that she could squeeze through. She looked off to her side and saw Pottgen reloading her machine gun and pointed at the opening. Raisa noticed it in a split second and her face visibly paled as she shook her head no.

“Don't go Hanna.” she pleaded. “No two witches ever made could get through and get back out alive.”

“Not with that attitude.” Marseilles retorted angrily. “We are this close to wiping the enemy out and I'm not going to be denied ultimate victory by some latecomers. This ends now. Either come with me or keep it open, the choice is yours.” She then revved her Strikers and raced towards the gap. The pilot officer tried to say something, but she was so far gone that she wouldn't have heard her if she tried. Cursing to herself, Raisa had no other option but to stay at her side. _It's suicidal and she fucking knows it._ Dodging all manner of obstacles, the one reluctant witch followed the reckless one, firing at anything that dared come close. Two enemy witches went down and soon they both reached the hole in the fighter screen. Angling their bodies, the German pilots whizzed through and searched for the enemy battleship. It didn't take long for them to find it, slowly reversing course and putting up a dogged resistance. It had taken some hits from the allied fleet, the holes in the sides and bow plainly evident, but it wasn't enough to pierce its core.

Hanna looked the vessel all over with the eye of a hawk searching for its prey in a field of long grass. The plumes of water and steam made visibility difficult, but she managed to catch a glimpse of a white overcoat and the glint of a spearhead at the rear of the ship. _There you are you traitorous bitch! I will have my revenge for what you did to them, what you did to all of them!_ Bellowing a cry of rage, she hefted her MG 34 and dove hard. The Parizhskaya Communa started to return fire with its AA, crimson beams painting the sky red. Twisting and turning every which way imaginable, Marseilles avoided the incoming fire and started shooting at the beamer pods. Detonation after detonation told her that her attacks were causing damage and Pottgen successfully scored a lucky hit on one of her turrets, rocking the vessel hard as it went up. Hanna's blood pumped hard and hot through her veins as she danced around, getting closer and closer to the object of her hatred. Matilda had her sling at the ready, calmly waiting for her to get close enough. The lieutenant waltzed around the command tower of the Parizhskaya Communa, Raisa peppering the structure as she had no more bullets left. She cautiously set herself down and pulled out her Beretta, keeping a close eye on Matilda. The two women looked at each other with contrasting expressions, one with anger and the other with happiness. “What the fuck are you smiling about?” Hanna spat out. “Thinking that you're going to beat me?”

“I already have Hanna.” Matilda replied, still swinging the sling around and around. “You're just too blind to see it.”

“You have no right to call me by my name anymore.” Marseilles countered harshly, reaching for the pistol at her belt.

“Last time I checked, I'm not a part of your squadron anymore. So I'm going to ignore that.” the enemy witch countered. She saw what her former friend was doing and commented, “I can easily stop you.”

“I'd love to see you try.” the lieutenant dared, hr fingers barely a half inch away from clasping her gun.

Matilda chuckled and stated, “You really need to choose your words more carefully.” Suddenly, she let the sling go and the stone inside flew out. Hanna made a move to dodge, but the rock merely floated upwards and onwards. For a brief moment, she didn't understand what was going on until she realized that Raisa was still circling around the command tower.

With a start, Marseilles turned her head towards Pottgen who was coming around for another pass and screamed, “Look out!” The pilot officer instinctively dove down upon hearing the words instead of stopping and looking, a trait that was honed through many years of fighting together. Her words saved a life and the projectile flew on past, filling the German witch with relief. Something glowed purple in Hanna's peripheral and her head spun back around, but not fast enough to catch Matilda disappearing as she cracked the vial she had and activated the spell contained within it. “Fuck!” Hanna bellowed. “I fucking had her right where I wanted her!”

“Lieutenant Marseilles! This is Air Commander Neumann! The Yamato and the Missouri are in range to engage the Parizhskaya Communa! Get out of there!” Edytha strongly urged over the comms.

Marseilles gave a frustrated huff and revved her Strikers, getting airborne within seconds and linking up with Pottgen who rose back up into the aironce the danger had passed her by. The dove low towards the water and made their way north, seeing that as a good way to avoid the incoming fire from their rear and the west. “We're out of danger. Fire at will.” Raisa remarked. No sooner did she say that than a massive series of explosions occurred far out beyond their sight. They couldn't see where they were coming from, but their guts told them that it was something big and something from their side. They scanned the skies for the shell tracers and quickly found them, dozens of eighteen and sixteen inch shells that could wipe a whole city block off the map whiz through the air and arc towards the enemy battleship. The witches patiently waited for the imminent destruction of the target. They didn't have to wait very long. One second, the Parizhskaya Communa was floating on the water, firing what remained of her armaments at the approaching allied vessels and the next it convulsed upon taking direct hit after direct hit. The shots buried themselves deep into the armor, gouging holes big enough to drive a tank through. Some of them were armor piercing delayed action rounds, ticking time bombs that caused massive damage when their fuses expired. Whole sections were deleted from the super structure. The core became exposed and the ship cried out in pain as chucks of it were shot off. After the salvo was over, the ships still stood and returned fire one last time, a final act of defiance as death came to claim her. That was when the second barrage came into play, this time fired from the Italians. Their shots weren't as well aimed, but there were enough of them to finish the job. One struck the core dead on and the Parizhskaya Communa went up, the shockwaves causing tidal waves that would surely eclipse the fifteen foot mark in all directions, the surrounding area nothing but a white shard haze.

Somewhat satisfied with the death of the enemy flagship, Hanna thumbed her communicator to the all channel frequency and ordered, “To all pilots. Return to your FOBs to rest and rearm for the Tangiers landings. This day isn't over yet folks.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audie, Amelie, Edmund, and Helga join the fray and try to bring Operation Torch to its conclusion.

_ **Chapter XX: We Are The Same** _

_They plead for mercy, they plead for their mothers and fathers, they plead for their loved ones, they plead for God, but I do not listen as I butcher them like pigs. My face is expressionless, but my heart weeps at the slaughter. In another time, another life, another war, things would be different, but not here. However, one thing still remains the same: We all are suffering from a conflict that we didn't want while serving masters who care little for us or our wellbeing. Dear God, why don't you make this stop?_

Diary Entry April 22nd 1944

Patrica watched from the top of the bunker as the remaining witches and planes landed at the nearby landing strip to the southwest, looking for fuel, ammunition, and most importantly rest. Pilots emerged from their beat up cockpits with flight suits soaked with sweat while others had to be helped out due to wounds or simple weakness. The witches that could help did so despite their weariness. Quite a few had to be attended to immediately by the medics upon passing out from sheer exhaustion upon touch down. _Not many came back. Probably lost half of what we have and will likely lose the other soon enough._ Then she spied the familiar shape of Inagaki land with her squadrons, looking far better than the rest. The tiny Japanese witch saw her and waved. The American returned the gesture, relieved that she had made it out of Gibraltar alive. _But what about Matilda?_ Turning directly behind her, the flats of her Land Strikers grinding into the concrete roof, she looked out over the small rise of the rocky outcropping that provided natural cover and defense and gazed at the sea. “Mind if I join you?” Mami's voice asked over the communicator.

“Not at all sergeant.” Patricia replied, not looking away from the waters. Her mind was lost in all manner of thoughts so much that she didn't even hear the Strikers as they got closer and closer nor the wind they kicked up, beating her with hot sandy air.

Inagaki killed the engines and took her weapons off her back, letting them fall to the bunker roof with a hard clang. “I've heard nothing from her at all Patricia if that was what you were going to ask.” she preemptively stated politely. “Last thing she said to me was that she was going to stay and fight for as long as possible.”

“I wasn't going to inquire about that.” the American countered. “What I was going to ask was whether you think she'll be alright.”

Mami felt the concern in her friend's voice and placed a reassuring right hand on her left shoulder. “Matilda's magic isn't like ours. Hers is more powerful that anything I've ever seen. You really think that a few shells from some leaky boats are going to put her down? Not a chance in hell.” she uttered.

“That warlock is still out there isn't he?” Patricia queried. Before Inagaki could respond, a muffled boom from some far away explosion rocked the air. The two witches looked out over the water where far off in the distance, gigantic waves started rolling in all directions. Worry sunk in her heart as she realized what had happened. _That had to have been the Parizhskaya Communa! She's just gone up!_ Frantically, she thumbed her comms to Matilda's frequency and shouted, “Matilda! Are you all right!? Can you hear me!? Come in Matilda!”

“You honestly don't have to shout Patricia.” Matilda answered, her voice strangely echoing as if she was in a cave. “Those batteries have given me enough tinnitus to last a full week. I really don't want your voice to add to the total if you please.”

 _Oh thank Christ she's alive. We still have a chance._ “We just saw the battleship go up. There's tidal waves coming hard and fast.” Patricia informed.

“They'll break down long before they get to the shoreline. At best, some of your boys will get some soggy boots.” Matilda replied. “Have you seen Sergeant Mami come back yet?”

“I'm here and accounted for ma'am.” Inagaki answered proudly. “Most of my girls made it, but there's not a lot from the air battle over the strait.”

“Figured as much. Get everyone rearmed and refueled ASAP. They're moving the troop carriers into the strait right now. You've have at most two hours to get squared away. Make them pay for every inch of ground ladies. Matilda out.” Matilda ordered.

***************

Even when separated by several inches of steel and several miles, Murphy could still hear the guns of the allied fleet firing away at Tangiers. They had been at it for a good half hour or thereabouts, but the lieutenant didn't care and merely went about the business of making sure that the straps to his backpack were good and tight around his shoulders. He rotated his back to either side and felt no discomfort or the sensation of anything coming loose and smiled. Audie reached back towards the bench and felt for his helmet, but his right hand grasped nothing but air. Puzzled, he glanced down and found out to his horror that it wasn't there. _Shit! I could've sworn I brought it with me from my room! Do I have enough time to go back and get it before they call us to stations?_ Suddenly, he heard a sharp whistle and whipped right around just in time to see a small green spheroid object fly towards his chest. He snatched the thing out of the air with his hands out of reflex and saw that it was his helmet. Confused he looked at the thrower and saw that it was Helga in her full kit, giving him a warm loving smile. “Looks like you lost more than one head in that room huh cowboy?” she inquired with a sly wink.

Murphy chuckled and placed it on his head. “Thanks Helga.” he stated with a grin of his own. He didn't take his eyes off her as he tightened the straps under his jaw, taking in every inch of her visually. When he was done, he let his shoulders sag as he picked up his rifle. “Really wish that could've lasted forever.” he admitted, speaking of what happened last night.

“Me too my love.” Von Kreiger admitted. “That was very special.” She then looked down at her watch and right back at Audie. “We better get going. The bombardment is about to stop and they'll soon call us to stations.” The lieutenant shouldered her Mauser, the entire gun wrapped in plastic, and slowly turned away, walking out the open door.

Murphy watched her go and was about to do the same when he heard a voice comment softly from the left side of the door, “Looks like you've finally gone and done it lad.” Curious and fearful of the affair being discovered, the American quickly jogged out into the open air and onto the metal gantry, the smell of the sea and the roar of heavy guns firing thick in the air. Looking to his left, he saw Edmund leaning against the wall with a cocked eyebrow, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “You crossed the threshold.”

Audie's first instinct was to deny up and down such a thing, but try as he might, his brain couldn't form a single adequate response. Without an excuse, he merely shrugged his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah, I guess we did.” he replied. He looked all up and down the gantry and noticed that Helga was long gone. “Guess she was in a hurry.” he observed.

“Aren't we all.” Peterborough stated, hefting his Lee Enfield. “We should get going as well.” With that, the men walked along the gantry and up a small metal set of stairs that looked so spindly that a breeze would rip it off their bolts. Voices could be heard now, getting louder and louder as they ascended. When they finally took their last steps, they could see the entire deck crammed with people in full kit, talking away like it was some sort of convention. A nearby midshipman saw them and promptly walked up to them.

“What's your number gentleman?” he asked.

“We're both 35.” Murphy answered. The sailor nodded and led the way forwards, politely calling out to make way. Though it drew plenty of grumbles and dirty looks, the men and women on deck obeyed without question, parting to the left and the right as the midshipman craved a path through them as did Moses with the Red Sea. As they progressed through the crowd, Audie looked to the left at the array of warships sending salvo after salvo into the air and onto the defenses of Tangiers. He couldn't get a good look at what they were precisely shooting at since the ships were arranged in such a way that would prevent torpedo strikes on the vulnerable troop ships. After what seemed like a minute, the arrived, the sailor indicating their stop with a simple gesture of the head before beating a hasty retreat back to his post. Looking over the side, the captain and the lieutenant saw a thick cargo net that led straight down into the belly of the Higgins transport. It was a simple design made of steel plated wood with a a large level compartment that could take on easily thirty six men with full gear. Behind them would be a solid steel plate protecting the engine and where one of the crewmen would activate the gate winch when they arrived and behind that were two .30 caliber machine guns. “It's not the Ritz, but it will do.” he remarked.

Edmund nodded and craned his neck, trying his best to position himself to peer between a small break between the line of ships in front of them. “I can sort of see what they're doing.” he reported. “Massive shelling on a slope.”

“Then we must be on the left side then.” Audie deduced, remembering the charts. “We're going to be sitting ducks as we make our way around that reef and it wouldn't surprise me at all if they had mines already set up there.”

“That and removing that elevation is going to make it far easier for them to get a shot on us as we make our way towards it. Daft cunts made it so much harder for us.” Peterborough groaned.

“Who made things harder for us?” a female voice asked from close by. Both men turned to the right and saw Amelie along with Helga standing at the next departure station. “Inquiring minds want to know.” Planchard continued.

“Our ships are shelling the slopes leading upward towards the enemy defense line.” the captain explained.

“Shouldn't that be a good thing?” Von Krieger queried. “We don't have to worry about falling backwards into each other if that's the case.”

“They're removing whatever cover we would've had.” Murphy clarified. “Once those guns stop firing, they'll move on up and hunker down with machine guns and mortars and wait for us to open the doors.”

The German lieutenant grimaced and shook her head. A thought then occurred to her and she stated, “Given our numbers, we should be in the second line so there's that to think on.”

Amelie regarded both Helga and Audie and noticed that they were staring at each other for a bit longer than usual and they seemed so relaxed. Intuition kicked in and the French witch suddenly realized why that was. Smiling, she stroked her left index finger over her right one and remarked, “Vous avez tous les deux été méchants, n’est-ce pas (You all have been naughty haven't you)?”

“Pipe down.” Edmund hissed in a low voice looking warily at the people around them. “Some people around here don't need to know that luv.”

“Come on Edmund!” Planchard protested, gesturing with her hands at everyone. “Does it look like that anyone really gives a shit at this point? Besides, I'm really happy for you both. You two make a really cute couple and I hope it works out.” Both paramours blushed and were about to say something in return, but suddenly the guns on the ships stopped firing for a lot longer than usual. Quickly replacing the silence were shrill whistles being blown by the coxswains in the assembled transports below them, signaling that now was the time to embark. Amelie was the first over the side and she looped her Strikers into the ropes expertly, Von Krieger right behind her. “I'll take care of her Audie.” she promised. “I may not be your superior, but I order you to come back to her.”

Murphy gave her a razor sharp salute. “Yes ma'am!” he emphatically replied and soon found himself over the side, carefully navigating the perils of the cargo net.

Edmund followed him down and the American found the going fairly treacherous. As more and more people began to use the net, the more it swayed to and fro. All it would take for the trip to be a short one would be a miscalculation here or a loose grip there. Looking over his shoulder down at the belly of the landing craft, Audie had no intention of being the first one in. _Then you get shunted to the front and the rest funnel in behind you._ Timing his steps in tune with Edmund's, the two men reached their destination, the coxswain giving them a steadying hand in the back and a gesture towards where they were to go. A few moments and bodies later, the steersman took a quick look around at the full boat and blew a whistle around his neck loudly, signaling to the other assembled empty transports nearby to get ready to move in and to those still on the deck to hold up. He then vaulted over the steel plate wall separating the engine and main compartment and started to steer the landing craft away and out towards the sea, the engine roaring like a lion. Edmund steadied himself by holding his right hand out, pressing against the cold steel plated wood while Murphy shifted his stance just slightly. “Been a while huh?” he remarked, noting what the captain was doing.

“Speak for yourself lad.” the Brit countered with a smile. The two men chuckled for a bit and Peterborough waited until the boat hit calmer waters before standing on his tippy toes to get a look over the walls. His eyes manged to see that their boat was somewhere within the second line. “Looks like we struck gold yet again Audie. Quite a few managed to get out before ours.”

“So we're going to be the followup.” Murphy remarked, secretly relieved. “You see where Helga and Amelie's Higgins is? It's 36 if I'm remembering right.” The lieutenant watched as his immediate superior took another gander. A few seconds passed and his heart started to sink as he looked at Edmund's body language.

“I can't see them from here lad. I'm sorry. With any luck, they'll be in the same position as us.” Peterborough reported. He saw his friend's shoulders sag at the news and he placed a reassuring left hand on his right shoulder. “Come out of it Audie. Focus on the big things and the little ones will take care of themselves. She'll be fine.”

*****************

A long stream of vomit flew out of Helga's mouth as the feelings of nausea became too much to bear, her hastily eaten breakfast painting the boat hull a curious blend of colors. She hunched over hard as the throes washed over her again and again. Despite the scene her body was making, the other men and women in the landing craft largely paid it no mind, ignoring the sick German and facing forwards. However, Amelie was immediately off to her right side and was doing her best to steady the both of them so that neither would fall over and do a faceplant in the puke. “Seasick?” Planchard asked, deep down wondering if there was more to this than met the eye.

Von Kreiger spat out some residual vomit that clung to her teeth and took a deep breath, closing her eyes while doing so. _I knew I should've stayed away from that coffee and stuck to orange juice._ She wiped her mouth with the upper part of her uniform, streaking the fabric with a long dark line of still gritty moisture, before getting upright once more. Helga nodded in thanks to Amelie and replied, “Yeah. Me and boats have a bad relationship. No matter what it is, I can't stand being in them for long before puking my guts out.” The French witch gave her a few pats on the back and faced forwards, shifting her Strikers a tad so that the vomit wouldn't touch them. “Why you ask?” Helga inquired, getting her canteen out and unscrewing the cap. Amelie said nothing at all as Helga took a drink, swished it in her mouth, and spat it up and over the side. At first, she was puzzled, but then realized why. “I'm not pregnant sergeant.”

“I believe you Helga.” Planchard stated. “Audie doesn't look like the sort who goes into anything unprepared, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh I do.” Von Kreiger commented. “Thanks by the way for what you said back there.”

The witch regarded her taller companion and said, “Don't mention it.” She then changed her tone and instructed, “When that ramp drops, stay behind me and keep low as we advance. My shields will give us some cover as we make our way on that beach. Understand?” Helga was about to give an affirmative answer , but something seemed to catch her attention as her head veered off towards the rear of the Higgins. Curious, Planchard did the same and she soon saw the tall command tower of a destroyer speed on past them, keeping its distance so the waves wouldn't throw them off course. “Looks like we're going to have close range fire support. Kind of strange though. You'd think they'll send fighters our way.”

“From my understanding, they took some damage and many of the witches are completely drained. This might be the best we got left.” Von Kreiger recollected.

“We're coming up on the reef!” the coxswain bellowed over the rumbling engine. “We'll clear it in two minutes!”

****************

Patricia kicked the dead radioman off his blood stained desk and fumbled with the dials. The bombardment had just ended and she was scrambling to get a damage report from the other sites. _It was a hell of a lot more accurate than we anticipated. Fuckers had us pegged good._ The bunker she was in fared decently against the shelling save for the corner where she was in. It was only a grazing hit, but it was close enough to blow a chuck of three foot thick concrete into and through the radioman that now laid at her feet and burrow into the other side. Daylight poured through the new hole, illuminating the cadavers face, the glazed over eyes staring up at the heavens. _Heaven's not waiting for you kid. Those pearly gates aren't opening for any of us today or ever._ The witch finally got the frequency tune in and pressed the send stud. “This is Patricia! All stations, give me a damage report now! Over!”

“This is Station One. We have taken a pounding, but the damage is minimal ma'am.” the radioman answered.

“Station Two here. Lost around three bunkers and several tanks, but we're alright.” the radioman reported.

“Airfield here. We got absolutely crushed. The hanger took a direct hit and lit our ammo and aetheric fuel stores. Casualties are still being calculated.” the voice of Inagaki replied. “I've sent up spotters now because we've heard nothing from our forward observation posts.”

Patricia slammed her right hand hard on the desk, sending coagulated blood across the radio and the front of her uniform. _Shit! The fuckers knew where and how to hit us!_ “Get as many witches in the air as possible Inagaki. The enemy could very well be hitting the beaches within ten minutes.”

“Underst-” Mami began to reply, but the line suddenly went silent. The American wanted to say something, but was deeply afraid. _Matilda is already back in Tunis and if Inagaki goes, that just leaves me to defend the whole city. I can't do that myself. I need her._ “Just got a message from one of my spotters. The enemy has sent two separate landing forces at the beaches with destroyer escorts. They look to be coordinating their attacks in order to weaken our interior defense lines. One's over towards Station One, just getting near the reef now, and the other's going for Station Two. ETA ten to fifteen minutes.” the Japanese witch finished.

“Excellent work.” Patricia stated. “Take half of whoever's left and go to Station Two. They took the most damage and are in need of support. Leave the rest under a subordinate and have them make their way to Station One. Patricia out.” She killed the link and opened up another, the full broadcast frequency. “Attention all units! The enemy is within fifteen minutes of landing! Have the Neuroi move up first and fall in behind! I want all our heavy hitters on those beaches! Force them back into the sea!”

****************

Helga's stomach felt much better after vomiting, but her nose was not. The aroma of whatever slop the American's called breakfast reeked and the smell was getting to her. Everyone else in the boat said nothing, but she could tell from their body language that they felt the same way. Only Amelie seemed unaffected, the hard times in France making her immune to such things. They just got near the reef and were moving in a long sweeping arc around it, the destroyers shielding them from sight. Looking down at her watch, Von Kreiger figured that after they cleared that obstacle, the main event would commence shortly afterwards. _And after that, it's a shit show._ As if the universe decided to accelerate the pace, one of the destroyers got hit by something hard on her port side, triggering a massive explosion of flames. Seawater soared into the air like geysers and showered all over her and everyone else in the Higgins. Then more detonations could be heard all up and down the line of ships. Turning around and looking at the coxswain who was hunched over with one hand over his left ear, Helga yelled over the noise, “What the fuck is going on?!”

The steersman ignored her and continued to remain in the pose she found him in. After a quick second or two he bellowed at the gunners behind him, “Magnetic mines in the water! If you pick one up, shoot it!”

Helga's face paled as she slowly turned away, too in shock to do much else but to stare blankly at Amelie, the sounds of explosions becoming faint as she got lost in her thoughts. _Oh fuck us. They must have placed them there prior. Those destroyers can't take that much abuse and when those go, what's going to happen to us?_ The .30 caliber machine guns opened up, ripping up the choppy waters as they shot at anything that came near the landing craft. The vessel started to violently rock from side to side as the waves pummeled them mercilessly. Some soldiers fell over or got shoved hard into the steel sides. “How much longer do you think before we clear this?!” she called out to Planchard.

Adjusting her hydraulics on the fly, the French witch could do nothing to assuage the lieutenant's fears except give a weak smile and reply, “We're already going at maximum speed. We just have to hope and pray.” Three mines attached themselves to a rapidly sinking destroyer wreck and detonated. Such a blast was far too much for the cored hull to bear and pieces half the size of the Higgins sprayed everywhere like grenade shrapnel. One of them sliced into the rear of their boat, taking out the right machine gunner slightly above the waist. Crimson vitae leaked profusely out of the lower torso, the organs bubbling up to the surface like the ingredients of a soup at high boil. That however was not the worst part. The mines also caused the destroyer wreck to list over to its starboard side and tilt. Amelie watched the hunk of metal rotate like a gear, the barrels of one of its turrets looking like a cog that was about to grind into the boat and take them out of the fight. Knowing what she had to do, she glanced at Helga with fire in her eyes and demanded, “Boost me up.” Momentarily perplexed by such an order, Von Kreiger's body was slow to obey, but obey she did, getting on an uneasy knee. Gaining her balance, Planchard got on the lieutenant's back and did her best to not fall, using her arms to steady herself. Once se got a decent foothold, she regarded the incoming threat once more and threw up her hands, projecting her shields. The tip of the gun touched them and an almost imperceptible chime rang out, drawing everyone's attention to the spectacle being placed out. Then the chime was quickly replaced with a grinding sound as the colossal weight continued to exert force. Sweat beaded on Amelie's forehead and her jaw was clenched tight, all her arm muscles bulging as she held danger at bay. It also placed enormous pressure on Helga's back and it was getting harder and harder to breathe and her knee felt like it was going to break in half any second.

She looked over at the rest of the men and women in the boat and saw the awe on their faces. It made her angry and Von Kreiger snapped, “Don't just fucking stand there gawking at us! Help us out or we're all going to be swimming home!” That broke the spell and several witches got assistance from their male counterparts who lifted them into the air and positioned themselves both next to and off to the right of Amelie whose shields were about to give. “Push that damn thing over the side! We can do this!” the lieutenant ordered. Cries of defiance filled the air and the stomping of feet could be heard as the witch carriers advanced, every step hitting the deck with the force of a shotgun blast. Looking back up at the French witch she moved her hands off to the right and started to push with everything she had left. At first, nothing happened but little by little, by painfully small degrees, the barrel began to shift away from the Higgins. Those that continued to watch from afar began to cheer them on. Then with a mighty roar, Amelie gave the gun one more heave and the barrel bent with a groan at enough of an angle to not strike the landing craft. Spent from the action, Planchard staggered to her left and would've fallen onto the deck had it not been for Helga somehow getting her hands up underneath her at the last moment. A round of applause came from every pair of hands and loud whoops and hollers drowned out the noise of battle. Von Kreiger looked down at her friend who panted heavily and wiped the sweat off her brow with her sleeve. “You fucking did it you crazy bitch.” she uttered, giving the witch a hug of gratitude.

“I did say that I was going to take care of you didn't I?” Amelie countered with a sly wink.

******************

Patricia threw herself on the ground and crawled up to a small rise in the shell crater she found. _Yes. This spot with do nicely for what I have to do._ Knowing that it was a huge risk to her life, the witch decided to join the main defense at the beach, using her land Strikers to navigate the bombed out terrain. Neuroi and medium tanks hauling anti tank guns, light artillery, and machine gun and heavy mortar teams were all around her, searching for optimal positions to dig into or set up shop on.

Once she got over the crest, Patricia didn't even need to see the damage that the mines had done on the enemy ships. Many of the destroyers had been sunk, the only evidence that they ever existed being ever expanding oil slicks on the waves. Those lucky enough to survive were heavily damaged. Fires and smoke made it hard to see if they managed to get a lucky strike on a landing craft, but she focused instead on using the barrel of her 76mm cannon to smooth out the vitrified dirt and sand so that it wouldn't obstruct her view. Once she had that task done, she reached into her back pocket, pulled out her binoculars, and looked through the lens. She paid special attention to the very end of the reef, watching and waiting for the first landing craft to appear. _It may be outside of my range, but we'll at the very least cause them to swerve or collide._ Patricia then took a quick sideways glance to either side of her and saw to her delight that most of he force had already dug in, the sounds of cocking hammers, slide racks, and the distinctive whine of Neuroi beamers charging up sweet music to her ears.

Looking back through the binos and squinting her eyes, she picked out a Higgins and smiled. “All troops! Wait until they get into range and open up on them! Every one we sink means better odds for us!” she instructed. Affirmations momentarily overloaded her communicator and she was in the middle of putting her binoculars away when she heard the sounds of Strikers overhead. Not even turning around, Patricia knew that those were friendlies and thumbed her comms to another frequency. Once she got it dialed in, she pressed the send stud and ordered, “To all friendly aircraft! Your primary targets are those landing craft! Destroy them all!”

**********************

“We cleared the reef! Prepare to disembark in seven minutes!” the coxswain called out as he steered the Higgins around the last fringes of the reef and into open waters. Both Edmund and Audie double checked their gear and flicked the safeties off their rifles as they leveled out. Now that they cleared that obstacle, what they were going to assault was no longer blocked by the high hull of the landing craft. The western beaches of Tangiers had come into full view and neither they nor anyone else in that boat felt confidence. As Peterborough noted earlier, the sharp slop had been leveled out by the intense shelling into a gradual incline, but without that angle, the enemy now had a better view of the beaches much closer than before. To make matters worse, the captain and the lieutenant could plainly see shapes at the top, the black and red of the Neuroi contrasting sharply with the skyline. Nearby were tanks stationed behind hastily rendered heaps of sand as to expose just the turret.

“Good God.” Murphy muttered under his breath. “They moved in very fast. Any idea how many?”

“Too many.” Edmund replied, his face betraying no emotion. Then, the whole slope erupted in flames and crimson as cannons and beamers fired on the helpless transports. Munitions screamed as they descended from the heavens above and some of the green soldiers started to pull out crucifix's and pray while others just grimly leaned forwards and said nothing. As for the two men of the 31st, they watched the skies, calculating enemy positions in their head with every shell tracer they saw. Soon, saltwater rain fell down on their heads from missed shots. They heard a few explosions and winced at every single one. _Thirty six men. Thirty six men gone just like that._ Suddenly, the barrage was answered, the batteries of the surviving destroyers lending a hand to suppress the foe. Cheer after cheer was heard as hits were scored, the bodies of men and Neuroi alike being blown to Hell.

Then, as quickly as they materialized, they faded into nothing upon the dreaded cry by the coxswain. “Incoming fighters! Gunners open up! Twelve o clock high!” he screamed, pointing upwards. Eyes fell upon scores of black dots, flying in loose formations to mitigate flak. It was mostly witch heavy, a fact that unnerved all present. AA batteries opened up, trying to dissuade the attackers, but they were like sharks smelling blood. Nothing, not even the fear of death would stop them. They descended in packs and swooped in for the kill. Both men aimed their rifles and traced one group that was looking in their direction.

Edmund looked over at his friend and stated calmly, “If there's anything you want to say to me lieutenant, do it now.”

“If you make it and I don't, tell Helga that I love her and that I died with my boots on.” Murphy instantly answered.

“Same with Wilma.” Peterborough responded. “God be with you.”

The American said nothing, focusing all his energy in maintaining his composure as the enemy witches got closer and closer with every passing second, their shields shrugging off .30 caliber rounds. He picked out one witch and began to squeeze the trigger when all of a sudden, the formation veered sharply to the right and started to loosen up far more than what was necessary. “Look up there!” a random soldier cried out, pointing behind them. Confused, Audie whipped right around and looked up. His heart leapt with joy when he saw that more witches, friendly witches, stormed through the incoming fire and started engaging the enemy head on. The whole landing craft cheered, even the normally stoic coxswain as the women danced through the skies, fighting and protecting their fellows. Little battles were fought everywhere tooth and nail. He turned to Edmund who also was staring up at the scene and clapped him on the right shoulder. “We're going to make it.” he affirmed with a smile.

Peterborough remained strangely silent, not even registering who was talking or what he just felt. Instead, he watched the air battle raging above them, a particularly brutal section of it where at least four squadrons fought hard. He couldn't tell who they were, but many of them were dropping like flies. His eyes locked on to one falling witch, her right arm lopped off at the elbow coming straight at them. “I wouldn't count our chickens before they hatch lieutenant.” he replied. In a flash, he slung his rifle back over his shoulder and grabbed Murphy by the top of his uniform. “Over the side lad or we're going to die! Now!” he yelled as he used his strength to wrench the smaller of the two towards the right side of the Higgins. The captain was so forceful, that Audie wouldn't have been able to resist even if he wanted to, his feet could find no purchase on the deck or even the steel siding. A hard grunt later, both he and Edmund found themselves over the lip of the starboard side of the landing craft. Murphy's world was spinning as they crossed the point of no return and started falling into the sea. _Why the hell is he doing this? We're still a good minute out from shore._ Then, just before the top of his head hit the water, his eyes caught a glimpse of a falling object. It went so fast that he couldn't tell what it was, but what he did figure out very quickly was that whatever it was, it hit the Higgins smack dab right where they once stood. The boat exploded and the world became bathed in fire.

************************

Helga opened her canteen and gave it to Amelie who took it graciously and drank deeply. “Not too much now.” the lieutenant teased. “You never know when we'll get a chance to replenish.”

Planchard finished guzzling the cold water and handed it back to Von Kreiger. “I've never done something that crazy since I climbed the Eiffel Tower.” she admitted.

The two started chuckling, but the mirth was cut short by the coxswain whose eyes widened. “Clear the ramp! Thir-” the coxswain started to bellow, but two beams caught him in the throat, taking out burnt chunks of his flesh along with it. The first one to see it happen was the remaining machine gunner on the left side who then desperately tried to get out of his harness to take the dead man's place . Next came Amelie who then saw the steersman slump off to his left and her Striker clad feet started to notice a change in direction. A cold sensation when up and down her spine as her mind pieced together what was happening. _His hand is still on the wheel! He's taking us sideways onto the beach!_ Hard boots and hands pounded steel as the machine gunner, the last man alive and the last hope, hopped out of his chute and crawled to the steering. His face was determined to not let the men and women in the boat die. He was fully exposed to the enemy both above and ahead, but he didn't care. Lunging reach after lunging reach he got closer and Planchard prayed internally for his success. That prayer was denied as a stream of bullets blew off the man's left hand at the worst time. With no grip, he couldn't stop himself from being tossed over the side into the sea, not even having enough time to cry out in pain. Wincing, the French witch momentarily though about despairing, but then dashed that aside. _We're too close to spin around in circles. We'll hit the beach and hopefully be at a good enough angle to get out._ “Everyone brace yourself! We'll be hitting that beach hard! Five seconds!” she roared, taking her own advice.

The rest of the soldiers inside the landing craft did their best with what time they had and hunkered down. Almost exactly five seconds later, the Higgins hit dry land hard, the hull and propellers grinding into hard packed sand, sending a few of the men and women to the steel deck or into each other. “There's no time to dawdle folks! We need to get that ramp open!” Helga ordered, moving up through the close packed troops towards the manual ramp lock release bolts. Some of the more alert soldiers joined her and started tugging the thick steel rods that held the door closed. They got them all pulled and the thick steel ramp dropped into the water. Von Kreiger threw herself against the siding to avoid the incoming fire, but none came as the boat somehow beached itself in a slant with them facing the sea. “Move out and rally behind the boat! Move!” she instructed, shouldering her Mauser. Her boots splashed into the lukewarm water and found purchase. The ocean came up only halfway up her boot and she found comfort in that fact. _That means we won't run the risk of drowning._ Enemy bullets and beams hit the other side of the helpless landing craft as the troops poured out, following the lieutenant's lead. Planchard found her near the edge of the right side and made her way to her.

“Where did we end up Helga?” she asked, getting on a knee behind her. “Are we more left than usual?”

“Finding out now.” Von Kreiger replied, pulling out her knife and angling it down and away. The steel blade reflected a horrible series of images. Up on the ridge, the enemy was still shooting down at them and everyone else who made it on the beach with precision fire. Bodies lay everywhere on the sand or in the water, the waves carrying their corpses to shore, unknowingly fulfilling their mission. Many cowered behind the dead, using them as cover while they returned fire as best as they could. The air was full of detonations, the whizzing of lead, the freem of beamers, the cries of men and women giving orders or getting cut down. It was terrible to behold and her hand lost her grip on the knife, the weapon falling into the water, but before it disappeared underneath the waves, she saw a large cluster of deep shell craters. Turning to Amelie, she grimly answered, “It's rough out there. They've got every square inch of this place sighted. We stay here we die here. Our only chance is to quickly move up and hunker down in some craters I saw. They should be deep enough to protect us so we can lay down some suppressing fire.”

Planchard nodded and turned to the rest of the soldiers who were huddled behind them. “Alright people, listen up!” she declared. “We can't stay here. We're going to use smoke and move wherever the lieutenant moves. Understand?” All assembled nodded and a few pulled out some smoke grenades from their belts. The witch did the same and counted down, “On 3, 2, 1, smoke!” she shouted. A cluster of grenade pins got pulled in near unison and hurled through the air. One got clipped by a stray round and spun away into the deck of the beached landing craft. Von Kreiger counted down the amount of time before the grenades detonated and took into account the wind speed and direction all in her head. Shouldering her father's rifle, the German double checked to make sure that the action was clear of sand. _Nothing worse than a rifle that can't shoot._ Seeing that everything was well, she regarded the troops and commanded, “All of you stay on my ass and move! Stop for nothing! Let's go!”

****************8

The world underwent a series of odd changes as Edmund and Audie swam the remaining one hundred feet towards the shore. One moment, their heads would be above water, ears pummeled with the sounds of battle and eyes witnessing all kinds of bloody carnage and the next, that picture disappeared and was replaced with this gritty murky dark brown when they had to duck down to avoid getting picked off by snipers high on the rise. It didn't take long for them to get close enough so that they could put their feet down, but the sea floor was filled with all kinds of debris. Helmets and weapons from dead Allied troops caused them to slip and slide, turning what should be an easy path forward into an obstacle course that could result in a broken ankle at any moment. Bodies bobbed like human shaped corks in the water, the immediate vicinity stained a deep red. The current may have carried them forward, but sometimes they would knock into hips and behind knees, taking them out. Still, they couldn't stop, the possibilities of injury not even remotely comprehended. The only thing they both thought about was getting on that beach and into some sort of cover.

Murphy held onto his rifle for dear life and he waded through the seawater, thinking about taking shots at the enemy on top of the ridge, but not doing so. _One man firing away at the enemy is a waste of ammo at this range._ Frustration built up inside of him as he saw a cluster of men get thrown into the air by a mortar round, arms and legs fully detaching from their proper places. Many were knocked out by the blast, a thankful blessing for they wouldn't be screaming in pain when shock settled in. Others rolled around, their minds scrambled by the concussive force. “You see anywhere that's safe?!” the American asked his British superior.

“Define safe lieutenant.” Peterborough countered curtly, doing his best to spy something, anything that could offer some momentary refuge. Some beams lashed out too close for comfort and the duo hit the ankle deep water hard. A dead witch lay nearby and he grabbed the from of her soggy uniform and pulled her close to them. “Thousand pardons luv.” he muttered as he tilted the cadaver on the side to make her a bit taller. He didn't look at the face, not wanting to see if she resembled Wilma or not. He reached for his binoculars, but found that they weren't there. Swearing under his breath he asked, “You still have your binos Murphy?” Audie nodded and whipped them out. Edmund took them and peered through the lens. Fighting the current that was trying to propel him further onto the beach, he theorized that they were a touch off course. _Hmm. Look to be towards the left side of the beach._ Panning around, he grimaced as brave men and women who resisted bravely were simply swatted aside like flies. A mortar round hit the ground behind them, sending water into the air and waves that slammed them into the corpse. Judging from the impact, the witch had been dead for a good while, rigor mortis seizing up the muscles. He lost his grip on the binoculars and they fell into the water. “Bloody Christ.” he cursed as he fumbled under the water with his left hand to get them back.

“Hold on!” Murphy suddenly exclaimed. He pointed off further left and the captain looked in that direction. He saw a beached Higgins, the engine smoking as the propeller blades still turned to turn in the hard packed sand. From this angle, he really couldn't tell if it was empty or not. “We could use that for cover!” the lieutenant added anxiously. Suddenly, several small objects appeared in the air, coming from behind the landing craft. Edmund squinted real hard and recognized the shape. _Smoke grenades. Somebody must have made it._ A few seconds later the munitions went off, covering the area with a dense white smoke. Shortly after that, soldiers moved up from behind the transport. As they raced past, his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Helga leading the way, Amelie right on her heels.

“Cover you say?” he conjectured to the equally shocked Audie. “We're using that for an advance. Move it lad!”

Both men rose from the beach, lukewarm saltwater dripping from their bodies, leaping over the dead witch and running at an angle to get into the smoke screen faster. Boots pounded the sand, sending clods of it into the air as their legs carried them closer and closer. The enemy reacted swiftly, but not quick enough to kill them before they entered the safety of smoke screen. Of course, safety in a cloud was an illusion. While it keep them invisible, it did nothing to stop the beams and bullets that peppered their position as they charged. Murphy zigzagged in tandem with Peterborough, keeping close but far enough away so that a lucky bullet wouldn't go through them both. He panted hard, fear and adrenaline making ignore his burning lungs and legs. A beam lanced through the white smoke and hit him on the side of his helmet, the hit snapping the chin strap and making it spin around, covering his face and blinding him. Knowing he couldn't stop, he threw his head back and the helmet flew off his skull. Gritting his teeth he screamed, “Is that all you got you bastards!?” As if to answer in the negative, another beam came at him, this time hitting the tip of his right shoulder. Audie yelped in pain as his clothing and flesh burned to a crisp. The sensation made him stumble and he fell onto the beach. Something happened to be on the ground where he fell and his head smacked on it with full force. Pain registered briefly and the American had no time to think before his eyes flickered as his vision went from clear to fuzzy and finally to black.

*********************

Her legs ached and her lungs burned like raging wildfires, but Helga pressed on towards the craters, eyes locked on target. All around her beams and bullets smacked into the wet sand in front or behind her. Cries of pain and agony told her that some found their mark, yet she had no time to turn around. _Can't stop here. I stop here, I die. I must make it._ Closer and closer the blown out holes in the earth neared. The incoming enemy fire increased and the German knew that it was now or never. Throwing caution to the wind, Von Kreiger threw her arms out and leapt into one of the craters. A bullet clipped her left foot, but she felt no pain whatsoever as she sailed through the air and landed with a huff onto the ground. While in relative safety, she landed smack dab in the center, the weird angles bending her spine into a curve. This time, the anguish was real and she groaned. More of the troops from the transport joined all around her, getting deep and low. Amelie rolled over twice towards the lieutenant and asked, “You alright?”

The sound of the sergeant's voice knocked Helga back into the here and now and she answered, “Yeah, but the bastards got my left foot I think.”

Planchard instantly looked down at the wound site, fearful that her friend's injury might be severe. A few seconds of examination passed and the French witch smiled and shook her head. “You're fine Helga. It just blew most of your sole out.”

“Better that than the other huh?” Von Kreiger conjectured with a chuckle. “How many made it?”

Amelie turned to the left and right and did a quick head count. “I'm seeing twenty nine lieutenant. Not too bad.”

 _More than enough for a good firing line._ “Alright people, lets start letting them have it for a change! Open fire!” Helga ordered, aiming her Mauser at the head of a machine gunner and pulling the trigger. Her shot whizzed through the air and struck the enemy soldier right between the eyes, knocking his head back violently before slumping over the side, the blood misting the air for a brief second. The rest of the soldiers followed her example and their shots began to take a toll, Neuroi and man crumpling into heaps or suppressing them so they couldn't lash out against them or any other Allied soldiers. Helga's hands moved so fast that the wind wished that it could go half as fast, the motion of racking the slide nothing but a blur as round after round was sent downwind, every shot a killing one. After she expended her last shot, she hunkered down in the crater and searched for another clip. While doing so, her eyes wandered towards the beach where she saw that other groups of survivors started to copy their tactic, using smoke to hide their movements to get closer. There were so many puffs of white smoke clouds that it made visibility damn near impossible, but through the breaks, Von Kreiger could see far out onto the water where tiny black dots bobbed up and down in time with the waves. At first she thought that they were bodies, but they continued to get closer and her ears picked up the sound of rumbling engines. _Reinforcements!_

Suddenly, something moved within the rapidly dissipating smoke screen that they had made, drawing her attention just as her fingers clasped around a clip, slammed it home, and racked the bolt. It was the figure of a man to be sure, but the top half was shaped like the canopy of a willow tree. “Hello!” a man's voice rang out through the haze. “Lieutenant Von Kreiger! Where are you?!” Helga's heart skipped a beat upon realizing who that voice belonged too. _Captain Peterborough!_

“Edmund!” the German hollered. “Over here! Over here!” The British officer looked to pick up the pace and raced towards the direction he heard the cries. Von Kreiger whipped right around and yelled, “Covering fire! Protect the captain!” The troops obeyed without question, taking down the enemy high up on the crest with precision. Between shots, Helga checked behind her right shoulder to see if Edmund had gone down. She did it three times, but on the third time, her body refused to move. Her blood went cold when she saw that Peterborough was carrying the body of a soldier, his helmet long gone, the tip of the right shoulder burned by a Neuroi beam, and blood dripping from a nasty gash on the head. Going by the uniform, it was an American lieutenant who looked awfully short to be a soldier, but yet here he was on the beach. Like her, the captain leapt into the air and landed almost in the exact same spot, however, he did so upright, using his knees to lower himself down upon landing. With a grunt, he shrugged the American off his shoulder's next to Von Kreiger. Time seemed to slow as her cat eyes saw the face, a face she knew, a face she loved drained of color. “Audie!” she screamed in terror, seeing the man who was so full of life just hours before now looking like he was about to cross the threshold of death's door. Her hands dropped her Mauser and she covered him up, tears streaming down her face.

“He's okay lieutenant.” Edmund assured, shouldering his rifle. “Lad went down from the shoulder hit and landed on a dead man's rifle butt. Good thing he was right on my heels or else I wouldn't have heard him.” His well meaning words did little to change the situation and he bellowed, “Medic!” From the far right of the cluster of craters, a soldier with a Red Cross painted on his helmet crawled feverishly towards the officers. It didn't take long, but to Edmund, it was borderline lackadaisical considering the circumstances.

However, the medic got there and tapped Von Kreiger on the shoulder. “Let me see lieutenant.” he implored as gently as he could. Helga sniffled back some more tears and backed away, wiping the moisture off her face with her left sleeve. She then went to look for her Mauser, but soon furrowed her brow in confusion when she couldn't find it. Her ears picked up a low whistle and she looked up. Amelie was there, holding her rifle in her left hand with a smile. She no sooner took the gun into her hands when the medic piped up, “Just got knocked out that's all. A bit of smelling salts and he'll be a ok in no time.” _Oh thank God._ Von Kreiger took a few potshots at some targets while the soldier went to work, taking out the vial of salts and holding them under Murphy's nose.

Edmund observed the work being down and noted that the lieutenant's eyes started to flicker and the limbs start to move. _Come on lad. Pull out of it._ He got closer and peered over the medic's shoulder. “Good job doc.” he commended. The soldier nodded and stowed away the salts. He barely got less than two inches away from Murphy before the lieutenant broke out of unconsciousness. Relieved, Peterborough was about to say something, but instead of words, there was simply a long stream of vomit that shot from Murphy's mouth and splashed all over the front of the captain's uniform. “Really now lad?” Edmund grimaced as his friend spat up the last flecks of puke from his mouth, groaning like a rusty gear all the while. “I lug your pale white arse through hell and back and this is the thanks I get?”

“Sorry about that.” Audie choked out, coughing a tad. He looked up at the sky and inquired, “How long was I out?”

“Not long.” a woman's voice replied. He turned to his right and came face to face with Helga who had a damp white cloth in her hands. She gently applied it to his head. “But long enough for me to worry. Don't ever do that again.”

Murphy winced as the cold fabric touched his wound. As he took over from Von Kreiger he nodded and stated, “I'll do my best ma'am.” He then shifted his position and peered over the lip of the crater, taking stock of what was happening. There was movement up along the crest and the fire was seemed to die down as bullet and beams sailed way over their head out towards the beach. _It looks like we have company joining us real soon, but if we don't keep up the pressure, they'll get chopped up like us._ “We're getting reinforced it seems.” he commented.

“But it won't mean a damn if we simply stay here.” Planchard deduced. She quickly looked around and saw a nearby radioman, the bulky portable radio sticking out like a sore thumb.. Getting an idea, she rolled over towards him and asked, “Can you get in contact with command?”

“I've tried several times sergeant, but I can't get through. There's too much interference.” the radioman sadly responded.

Amelie took her communicator out of her ear and handed it over to the soldier. “Use this as a booster and try again. Once you get a signal, hand it over.” She watched as the man plugged her comms into the slot and hastily turned the crank, powering up the device to transmit.

“Command! This is T1 beach landing group! Do you copy over! I repeat! This is T1 beach landing group calling command! Over!” the radioman barked into the speaker. After a few seconds his eyes lit up with excitement and he handed over the mike to Amelie. “I got them, but no idea for how long. Make it snappy.”

Planchard took the wired receiver and gave the report. “Command, first wave is on the beach but have not progressed beyond the bottom of the ridge. Enemy is dug in on the heights and is now firing upon the second wave. Can you send any CAS our way to cover them? Over.” she stated.

“We're scrambling reserve aircraft now. ETA seven minutes. Over.” the radio operator replied.

“With respect command, there won't be a second wave by then. Can you go any faster? Over.” Amelie countered.

“We-” the radioman started to say, but his train of thought derailed suddenly, making the French witch worry. “T1 beach landing group be advised. CAS is incoming fast from the Yamato. ETA forty seconds.”

*******************

Patricia squeezed he trigger to her 76mm cannon and watched as the HE round flew downwind and slammed into an approaching landing craft. The boat went up in a ball of flame, bodies flying everywhere. While a good hit, the witch looked down at her ammunition reserves and wrinkled her face in frustration. _They just keep coming. We're running out of ammo to deal with them. Soon, we'll have no choice but to vacate the beach and get to the trenches._ As she slunk downwards and started reloading, her eyes wandered all up and down the defense line. They were mostly in one piece, save for a gap here and there being carved out by enemy snipers. Above them, their witches were still holding, but judging from the relative positions of the two forces, things weren't looking too good. Patricia began to despair and slammed her fist on the ground after racking the slide to her cannon. Tears welled up at the sheer futility of it all and it took everything in her power to prevent herself from letting it all out in from of the men. Suddenly, the sole man on a nearby MG42 got his head popped, blood and brains exiting the back of his skull like maple syrup from a tree in winter. Before the body even hit the ground, the witch was moving, crawling towards the weapon emplacement. She got there and shoved the dead body down the slope with an angry huff. Looking over the gun, it was still operational and had a good two hundred rounds left. Checking over the action, Patricia got into her stance and peered over the crest of the ridge.

Far below her, the enemy had advanced from the beach under the cover of smoke, the clouds still lingering here and there. Sharp cracks of rifles and submachine guns swept upwards at her, but her profile was near impossible to see much less hit. Beyond the carnage and corpse littered battleground, the witch could see another wave of Higgins making their way towards the beach, unceremoniously pushing the dead out of its way. Taking aim at one of the transports, her trigger finger rested comfortably on the small sliver of metal as she waited patiently for the ramp to open. _Come on in you bastards. I have a little surprise for you._ Seconds ticked by and soon, the ramp dropped quickly, but not fast enough. Patricia fired, the buzzing of her shots jarring her body as she chewed up the enemy troops. Being so densely packed, the rounds went into and through them all. There was no mercy to be had by her as she swept to and fro, downing them within the span of three heartbeats. She even took out the coxswain and machine gunners for good fashion before turning her attention to another boat.

Her comms started to crackle and a voice called out, “Patricia, this is Inagaki! Can you read me?! Over!”

“Kind of a bad time sergeant, but I hear you! Report! Over!” Patricia answered, taking a quick stock of her ammunition.

“The enemy are driving us back. We're already getting hammered by the rail line and they have tanks on the beach. The loss of those bunkers fucked us pretty badly. They also have a second wave incoming way off on the left. They're trying to cut us in two. Most of my girls are down and we're running on bare bones for fuel and ammo.” Mami rattled off.

 _Sons of bitches._ “Keep fighting sergeant. We need to hold for as long as-” Patrica started to say, but something odd moved in her upper peripheral and it drew her attention away from what she was doing and saying. In the sky, the air battle inexplicably ceased and the enemy flew back over the water while theirs took flight in the opposite direction towards Tangiers. Her brow furrowed as she sought to figure out what the hell was going on. Scanning the blue yonder for a few additional seconds soon made everything quite clear and it chilled her to the bone. The sun shined brightly, but something was off about the orb of light. Two long black tendrils quivered off to the side and something seemed to move within the center. That was when the unthinkable happened. From one came two shining beacons of searing light, one still as calm waters while the other careened through the air with reckless abandon. Squinting, the witch started to quiver in terror as she saw an avatar of flame swinging two long barbed whips in either hand. _Oh shit! It's the warlock! It has to be!_

Then, a brutally harsh shriek pierced the air and it caused her to wince in pain and instinctively cover her ears. The cry that would humble even the proudest of lions in one fell swoop ended the slaughterhouse that was the beach, all guns falling silent and eyes gazing up at the heavens in mortal fear of what was to come. Regaining some bit of her composure, Patricia again looked up and saw that the warlock was pressing the two whips together. When the weapons were close enough, they started to wrap around each other like snakes during mating, the base wide and the the tip pointed. It took no less than two seconds and the figure held the new incarnation of his whip in the right hand, the mass retaining its new form, that of a gigantic spear. More words emanated from far away, syllables and consonants too foreign and complex to describe and the whip spear began to glow a vibrant red, little arcs of lightning coruscating all up and down the shaft. Slowly, the warlock drew back its mammoth right arm. That motion sparked Patricia to action and she turned and ran away from the front as fast as her Strikers could take her, yelling at the top of he lungs, “Fall back! Fall back now!”

Her words were obeyed, but the command came far far too late to have any effect as the warlock threw the spear at the ridge. It moved faster than anything had the right to and slammed right into their midst. The weapon exploded upon impact, but the blast didn't radiate outwards like normal, instead going horizontal in a long line of destruction. Energies swept over them all like a hurricane, disintegrating man, machine, and Neuroi alike nearest the point of impact. The concussive force blew scores of others into the air like rag dolls. Patricia due to her Strikers was the farthest away from the devastation being wrought upon her command, but was still picked up as if she was grabbed by some invisible hand. She lost her cannon, but the loss didn't affect her as much as seeing the scene play out as she spun head over heels in the air. A few seconds later and she hit the ground hard, rolling for a few feet. Thankfully, she raised her shields at the last minute, mitigating most of the damage. It dazed her and the world blurred up to the point where she wasn't shocked at all that parts of her vision started to go dark. _Ouch. Nothing feels broken and I can wiggle my fingers and toes. So much darkness._

Gritting her teeth, Patricia strained mightily as she forced herself to sit up, fighting not just the pain, but the tinnitus from the explosion. Her eyes went back towards the ridge and the sight took her breath away. What was once a defensive line was not a mere scar in the earth, an open gaping wound that was alight with unearthly fire, corpses and metal burning like tinder. A nearby soldier saw her and knelt down to help her up. “What are your orders ma'am?” he asked as he brought her to her feet. The witch shook off the pain and the ringing in her ears as more men, women, and Neuroi fell in all around her, awaiting her answer. She looked at their faces and saw that they were tired, scared, and accepting of the fact that they were probably going to die, but there was still that spark, that flame of defiance and it emboldened her, fortifying her resolve to go on. _If I'm going down, I'm taking as many as I can with me._

“Everyone, get to the the trenches! Everyone to the trenches!” she commanded, taking her own advice with haste.

“What's the rally point?!” the man inquired as he followed her.

“Anywhere but here!” Patricia replied.

*********************

The hot wind swept over the huddled masses at the base of the ridge, loose soil and small rocks whipping hard across uniforms and plinking off metal helmets. Neither of the four members of the 31st expected what was about to happen, but Edmund was the first to react, dragging them all down to the lowest point in the craters with his bare hands. Amelie practically burrowed like a worm into the sand and covered her head while Helga and Audie held each other tighter than a weld. “Stay down!” Peterborough roared. “Don't move!”

“No shit!” Planchard bellowed right back, giving the captain a dirty look. The Brit ignored it and waited for the gust from the explosion to die down enough so he could get a look at what was going on and more importantly what caused it. _No weapon we have could do that, certainly not one carried by any CAS that I know of. Hold on a tick... Could it be Aaron?_ His curiosity got the better of him and Edmund peeked over the crest of the crater and looked up at the ridge. Thankfully, the wind started to wane, but the debris hung like a brown fog in the air. It reminded him of London in the summer when the out of towners would roll in, dragging the dirt from the unpaved country roads through the streets. The thought was quickly quashed when his eyes started to pick out a figure in the haze.

He aimed his rifle and called out, “Thunder!”

“Flash.” a man's voice calmly replied. Then Edmund's ears picked up the familiar scrish of boots on sand, the sounds getting closer and closer. Resting the gun at his side, the mysterious speaker started to reveal itself, using something long and thin to comb his way through the brown mist. A few seconds later, emerging like king to his court, was Aaron himself, holding his machine gun in his right hand and a flag pole in his left, the stars and bars of America fluttering gently. His face was awash with blood, some old and clotted and some fresh and dribbling from the corners of his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose. The top half of his uniform was stained crimson and he spat a long stream of vitae out of his mouth. Divale's eyes regarded his friends and the rest of the remaining forces gathered around and stated, “They're running towards the trenches. We need to move in. Get up.”

Peterborough smiled and ordered, “Everyone up! Everyone up!”

Murphy staggered a tad to his feet, the pain of his head wound making him wince. He gritted his teeth and forced the agony away. “Looks like you got your red badge of courage there lieutenant.” the warlock observed.

The American nodded. “Just a knock on the dome. Nothing serious.” he answered. His eyes wandered to the flag and he asked, “So what's with the colors?”

Aaron comically furrowed his brow and reacted with mock surprise upon looking at the standard he was carrying. “Oh this?” he jested. “This is for you.” He then held out the flag pole and waited for Murphy to take it. “We need a visible rally point for the second wave.” Audie started to understand the logic of it and took the wooden pole in his hands, feeling a sense of pride holding his nation's flag. Divale then turned around towards the top of the ridge, racked the slide to his gun, inhaled deeply, and emitted a cry that echoed far and wide. “To the colors! Rally! Rally! Charge!”

*****************

Patricia lowered herself into the trench carefully as to not damage her Strikers, getting to the far wall to allow those that followed her a clear path. She stayed there for a few seconds and then power walked through the winding carved lines, brushing past men and women who were piling in willy-nilly. The Neuroi that survived simply bypassed the whole gathering, Legionary's marching in lock step alongside Strategos as they rolled over platforms built for them to do so and the Cataphractii merely stepping over them all. The witch then thumbed her communicator and demanded, “Spotters, has the enemy started to advance yet?”

A chorus of negatives began to ring in her ears, giving her a small glimmer of hope that they wouldn't get assaulted anytime soon. No sooner did that rosy outlook appear than it disappeared just as quickly with a sole voice. “Second wave has fully disembarked and they're moving right up the slope along with the first wave. They've got tanks and mortar teams everywhere. I don't even know how many. ETA one minute.”

 _Fuck me._ “All units! All units! Be advised! Enemy is coming in hot! Prepare yourselves! Give them everything you've got and make it count!” Patricia ordered. After killing the link, she moved into a small dugout that was almost fully taken up by a machine gun crew. Upon venturing past the threshold, the men inside did their best in moving out of her way, letting her walk right up to the heavily sandbagged slit. Looking out, she could see that the ridge was over a thousand feet away. _If I still had my cannon, I'd be lobbing shells like a trigger happy madman._ She then felt a tap on her right shoulder, causing her to break out of the thought and turn slightly. A soldier was right behind her, a Lee Enfield and a belt of ammo in his outstretched left hand.

“It's not much ma'am, but it's something.” the man explained.

Patricia felt touched, but accepted the weapon and clips without a sound. “Thank you.” she responded. Changing her tone, she regarded the rest of the dugout occupants with a stern face. “Listen up. Don't be popping off shots at the slightest hint of movement. We don't have the ammunition to spare anymore. Fire discipline people. Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes.” she instructed. There was no response save for efficient movement and positioning by the machine gun crew, each member at the ready to fight to the last. As for her, she walked right out of the dugout and back into the trench network, navigating north towards a small rise in the ground that would give her a good vantage point. Patricia made it halfway there when her ears picked up a sound that sounded like shrill whistling. Years of combat experience told her that those were falling mortar shells and she quickly dove into a small vacant spider hole. “Get down!” she screamed just before the first shell hit. Explosions rumbled all around, dirt and bodies flying into the air. The Neuroi started to split up and target the munitions as they came down. Some managed to shoot one down, but the air was full of them. _How did they get their mortars setup that fast?_ Knowing that she couldn't stay in a hole, the witch crawled out and continued to progress through the bombardment.

“Patricia?!” Inagaki's voice called out to her from the communicator. “Can you hear me?! Over!”

“Barely!” Patricia replied loudly, gritting her teeth as the rough trench floor dug into her knees and balled fists. “This isn't a good time sergeant so this better be fucking important! Over!”

“We're broken! We're in full flight. It's too much to hold back! I'm taking what's left of my girls and aiding you! The rest I'm sending to Oran! ETA five minutes! Over!” Mami reported. “I'm sorry Patricia!”

The American paused on her journey and slammed her fists down into the trench floor. “Fuck!” she cried out, frustrated that everything was falling apart. After her outburst, she composed herself and stated, “Understood sergeant, but be advised: The warlock is here! Repeat: The warlock is here! Patricia out!” She cut the link and decided to throw caution to the wind, getting up on her own two feet and running towards the rise. Her eyes could see it now, the bulge in the earth. Adrenaline surged through her veins and her pace quickened. Another mortar shell whistled as it came down from the heavens, this one much louder than any she ever heard before. _It's going to fall right on top of me!_ Patricia threw herself forwards and rolled on her back, throwing up her hands and projecting her shields. What happened next occurred within a span of a half second, but it was enough for her to save her life as her shields took the full impact of the mortar shell, the chiming loud enough to cause instant deafness. The walls of the trenches weren't so lucky and they simply vanished in a cloud of dirt and torn sandbags. Her ears rung like the dickens, but could feel nothing wrong with her besides that. Getting back up to her feet, she finally reached her destination and got on a knee, aiming her rifle dead ahead of her at the trench line. Her line of sight crested over the sandbags that lay close to six hundred feet away. Thinking about it for a moment, she smiled when she realized that she would be a very hard target to hit at this range.

Suddenly, the mortar barrage stopped and a mighty cry was heard far off in the distance. It sounded dark and menacing, like the voice of the Devil himself urging his followers on to claim the souls of the living. Then shapes rose up high into the air from the ridge, hundreds of them all at once like a murder of crows from cornfields. Shots rang out from the trenches and Patricia's Lee Enfield. The figure twisted oddly at the last moment, the bullet nicking the left leg. Grimacing at being cheated of a quick clean kill, the witch prepared to follow up, but then noticed something odd happening. Though the wound was far from fatal, the limb simply disintegrated, falling away piece by piece along with the rest of the body. It landed in front of her hard, but the impact was hard and dense, not soft or wet like normal. Puzzled, she inched her way forwards and look down at the corpse. Her eyes widened upon seeing a human body made entirely of sand from the beach, moisture leaking out of the ears and eyes like blood. _These are fake. They're trying to get us to waste our ammunition and distract us._ Then something shiny revealed itself as the rest of the body melted away like ice in summer. It looked to be a small metal ring, big enough to put one's finger in. _That's odd. I feel like I know that shape from somewhere._ Her moment of hesitation was all the time the still hidden smoke grenade needed to go off, flooding the immediate vicinity with a dense white smoke. It made Patricia cough and she backed away in a hurry, trying to get out of the area. Sticking her left hand out, she felt the rough trench wall and it served as her guide as she got away, not giving a damn where it was that she'll end up.

The haze gradually lessened and eventually disappeared entirely. Looking around, Patricia found herself in an unfamiliar part of the trench network, one that looked like it suffered greatly from the mortar strikes judging from the bodies. She located a nearby ladder, a simple construct made from three two by fours that were shoved into the trench wall and gingerly climbed. The rungs took the weight of her Strikers well and she peered over the lip. Ahead of her, she could see dozens of white smoke clouds hovering here and there like a fog, obscuring what lay beyond them. Then, a mighty war cry was heard and she knew that the enemy were charging them. Seeing this as good of a place as any, she aimed her rifle, waiting for the first target to appear.

***************

“Don't stop for shit!” Aaron bellowed at the top of his lungs as his feet carried him forwards far faster than anyone else as he charged the trenches. His wings were curled in front of him, providing protection from any return fire, though deep down, he didn't expect there to be any. _Those smoke grenades we got from the dead and a little bit of magic have saved our butts. Now for the easy part: Clean up._ “Imago calor.” he intoned, gripping his machine gun tighter to his chest. The multicolored world slipped away and became one of reds and oranges as his enhanced vision saw the enemy forces, the mortal ones at any rate, cowering in their holes. Closer and closer he got, weaving to and fro before leaping into the defense lines. He spotted a dense pocket of men in a dugout. _Machine gun emplacement._ With a gigantic leap, he pushed himself up off the earth and tensed up. His momentum took him smack dab into and through the gun slit, the warlock's body a spear that pierced through dirt and sandbags with ease, the feet crushing the gun like paper and sending the crew hard into the walls of the dugout. Divale arched his back and landed softy on his heels. Not wasting a single second, he turned his weapon on the gun crew, hosing them with .50 caliber bullets. Their bodies became scraps of meat in no time, but he was far from finished, running out of the exit and into the right side of the trench line proper. Angling one wing behind him to protect his blindside, Aaron started to run and gun like his life depended on it, acquiring and taking down foe after foe with minimal waste. _Need to move fast and clear as much as I can before the rest of them get here._ Return fire cracked from in front and behind as the enemy soldiers recovered from the shock. Divale could see their faces, the lines etched with fear and terror as they saw their bullets plink uselessly off his wing or outright missed, hitting the trench wall or floor. The sight didn't last long as he moved his trigger fingers faster than a tornado, taking out entire squads.

After butchering everything several hundred feet, the warlock spun around and started running in the other direction. By the time he reached the ruined dugout, two Cataphractii were waiting for him, cannons primed and ready to fire. A flick of the wings and Aaron was airborne, catching the Neuroi by surprise. They didn't fire, instead jumping up to meet him head on. However, the warlock had the advantage of moving first and used it well. He sliced the air with both wings at the first Cataphractii, the silver feathers going through the tiny head of the Neuroi. He felt the core give and the enemy spasmed as death took hold. Moving on to the next one, he spun away as it lashed out with two of its legs. Avoiding that attack, Divale reached out with his left hand and grabbed the last limb on the Cataphractii's right side. His fingers found purchase and he wrenched hard, taking the appendage clean off at the joint. The Neuroi whined in agony as it landed awkwardly and tried to turn around. It was too little, too late as the warlock swooped back in and drove the barrel of his machine gun into the head and pulled the trigger. Spinning end over end, he didn't look behind him at the dissolving Neuroi, instead looking at his watch. _By my calculations, they should be coming in right about now._

Right as he finished that thought, his ears picked up the sound of boots slamming into hard packed earth just a heartbeat before seeing Lieutenant Murphy leap into the trench right behind him, the American flag he proudly carried fluttering. Edmund came in next followed by Amelie and Helga. Aaron let them catch their breath for a brief spell before commenting with a sly smile, “Nice of you all to finally join the fight. What kept you?”

“Traffic.” Audie replied, looking over what his friend had done while they were running. “Fuck me Aaron. Did you leave any for us?”

“Don't worry Audie,” Divale assured, “there's plenty where they came from.”

“We should split up.” Peterborough suggested. “We'll cover more ground that way.”

“Agreed.” Helga concurred. “I'll go with Audie if you want to take Amelie with you.”

“Wow.” Planchard grumbled. “Helped save your ass on the way to the beach and you cast me off like dirty laundry.”

The mention of the word laundry made Aaron think back to the days he was in Dover and he subconsciously shuddered at the thought. “You'll make do.” he assured, looking at the hordes of soldiers piling in the trenches all around them. “Stay safe and be careful.” He then gave them all a small smile and started to leave, taking a pathway that led north.

“Where are you going?” Amelie inquired, looking like she was going to join him.

Without turning around, Divale replied, “Distraction junction.” He managed to get a few more feet away from them, but suddenly stopped when he heard something in the air, a low thrum. Whipping around and looking up at the sky, his eyes saw the faintest of black dots, almost a whole two squadrons worth coming closer and closer. His enhanced vision helped him figure out who they were in an instant. _The enemy is coming in._ One of the dots moved faster than the others, plumes of cannon discharge emanating from the figure. It didn't take long for him to deduce who it was. _So you've come right back short one. Brave, yet so very foolish._

*****************

Inagaki fired at a Sherman tank that was trying its best to move across the open field towards the trenches and scored a direct hit with her 88mm, the vehicle going up in a ball of fire and steel. What remained of her command were giving it all they had in picking out high priority targets and eliminating them, but that fact did little to comfort her. The field was littered with enemy forces, running and gunning thick as fleas to the trench lines of Tangiers. Their men in those dug out lines gave it as hard as they got it, but they couldn't kill them fast enough to halt the tidal wave of death and destruction bearing down on them. Her mind imagined the fighting in the trenches, close and bloody, and made her despair even more when she remembered how the warlock dealt with them at Gibraltar. _The warlock is at Tangiers now. Nothing is going to salvage this battle. Wherever he goes, nothing but defeat is in store for us._ The witch looked over her right shoulder at her fellow witches and wished that she could tell them that everything was going to be fine, that their actions would turn the tide, but no words came, just a blank stare that made many wonder what was going through her head. “Sergeant Mami,” her Italian subordinate reported, a touch of fatigue in her voice, “we're coming up on the trenches now. Your orders ma'am?”

Inagaki's response was without emotion or mirth. “Take whatever targets you can and get deep within our lines. Set up defense perimeters and dig in. Not one step back ladies, you hear me?”

Affirmations and silent nods answered her command and the Japanese witch attempted to turn around, but before she could get halfway, her subordinate stated, “For what it's worth sergeant, it was an honor.”

Mami's eyes welled with tears and she completed her rotation just in time as they started to fall. “Yes it was.” she replied, miraculously keeping her voice steady so they wouldn't know that she was crying. Through her weeping, she reloaded her cannon and panned the field for targets. She spotted another Sherman tank and brought the weapon up, looking down the sight as she aimed. Her finger squeezed the trigger and the shell sped out of the barrel with a loud bang. Inagaki watched the munition descend down towards the doomed tank and at the last second looked away, confident that she obliterated it when she heard the detonation of fuel and ammo stores. That glance elsewhere paid unexpected dividends as a lone figure, face clad in crimson, pushed back against the incoming enemy soldiers that were finding safety in the captured defenses. It captivated her for some strange reason and Mami squinted her eyes to discern who it was. That was when two large silver wings unfurled and it ascended like an angel. Shivers of cold fear went down her spine, for she knew that that was no angel she was seeing. _It's him! It's the warlock! He's coming for us!_ “Scatter! Scatter!” she screamed, waving her hands to either side of her. “Avoid that warlock at all costs! Fire on that bastard! Keep him away from us!” Reloading faster than she ever though she could, Inagaki and the rest of the witches unleashed hell at the warlock. As the incoming fire came towards him, she watched as it merely placed its wings in front of itself, becoming a spear point and spinning like a drill bit. Large caliber shells bounced off like rubber balls as it zigzagged and evaded like crazy. _How much fucking damage can that thing take?_

Suddenly, something started emerging behind the wings and Inagaki braced herself for whatever was to come, putting her 88mm away and taking out her twin 40mm Bofors. Soon, long black chains wreathed in liquid fire came into focus, the links twitching like blood vessels carrying blood. It made her sick to her stomach and she held down the urge to vomit. In her peripheral, she could see some of her pilots start to panic, their hands shaking with fright at the creature of legend made flesh coming for them all. Something did in fact come and it happened so fast that Mami nearly died then and there. The chains lashed out, the black metal wailing like the souls of the damned. Inagaki spun down and away, but her subordinate wasn't so lucky. One of the chains caught her, the links wrapping around her body like a boa constrictor. She screamed in terror and agony as the flames ignited her clothing and skin. It was a terrible sight to behold as the shrieking continued unabated. Then, as fast as lightning, the chains moved at an odd angle and directed the burning hand of the dying witch to fire upon Mami with a 20mm cannon. The move took her by surprise and she threw up her shields. The bullets slammed into her magical defenses, the chiming loud and clear. However, her protection didn't last very long. The near constant fighting throughout the day had drained much of Inagaki's power and the shields gave out at the last moment. Two shells sped past her, narrowly missing her right side, but they were close enough to rip the cloth right off her white top. At first, the witch thought nothing of it, but once her eyes saw something small and purple falling away towards the ground along with the scraps of fabric, the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. _That was my vial!_

“Sergeant Mami,” Patricia's voice rang over her communicator. “have every pilot make their way to the flare!” Inagaki, looked out over the trench line again in time to see a red tracer of a flare shoot up. _She's still alive?_

“All pilots, make for that flare! Move! Move! Move!” Mami yelled at the top of her lungs and hit the throttle hard on her Strikers. Her brown eyes moved subconsciously to the vial again and it was hard to resist the urge to fly over and get it. _It really wouldn't take that much effort to do..._ More screams from unfortunate witches jarred her focus back to where it needed to be and she wrinkled her nose as the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. She didn't have time to look to see who it was and started to veer hard right, making herself less of a target and getting into a better position to land where Patricia was. Inagaki saw that their presence didn't go unnoticed as enemy soldiers on the ground started to point upwards with their weapons and start firing. The witch returned the greetings in kind with her Bofors, peppering anything that moved. 40mm casings dropped like bronze raindrops as she completed her rotation and came up from behind the last few lines of allied held trenches. Squinting, she saw Patricia with a rifle, waving it wildly in the air to get her attention. “Get down quick and get to cover!” Mami ordered, commencing her dive. The Striker engines drowned out any replies from the surviving pilots and the hard deck got really big, really fast. More incoming fire from the enemy's side lanced close to the ground hoping to clip their blindsides. Spinning, Inagaki jinked to and fro, avoiding the shots. Suddenly, the moment had come to decelerate and she did so, the fringes of the top of her head the only visible part of her body, and she ducked down into the trench, cutting the engines. More of her flight joined all around her and spread out lest a lucky shell took out the whole lot of them. One witch was a foot away from safety before a bullet pierced her shields and took her in the left side of her jaw. Teeth and bone splattered like blood and the cries sounded more like a dying bull than a humans as the woman cut her Striker engines and cradled her ruined mouth in her hands, crimson vitae seeping through her fingers.

The Japanese witch didn't even have enough time to catch her breath before she was enveloped by the long arms of Patricia. “Thank almighty God you're here.” the American uttered, thankful that someone she cared about made it. That was when she noticed her friends naked side and she immediately started checking to see if she was wounded.

“I'm fine.” Inagaki protested. “It didn't hit anything at all, though I lost my vial.”

Patricia's face drained of color. “Then how are you supposed to get out of here?” she asked.

Mami's reply was simple and direct. “I'm not. I'll take over things when you have to go.”

“I outrank you sergeant.” Patricia stiffly argued. “That is not your decision to make.”

Inagaki gave her a glare and rolled her eyes. “Where do we stand?” she inquired, letting the matter go for now.

“Not on solid ground if that's what you're wondering. We have just these last two lines before the main bunker complex and that's it. We gave it as well as we could, but they're doing it better. That fucking warlock is chopping us to pieces.” the American reported.

Mami looked back up in the sky to see if she could locate the warlock, but he wasn't anywhere to be found. Her brow furrowed. “Where is he? Does anyone see where that bastard is?” she demanded. No one had a chance to react before a massive explosion rocked the earth close by their position. Determined to figure out the cause, Inagaki got close to the lip of the trench and took a quick peek over the crest. A cloud of uplifted soil obscured the left side of the trench line in front of them, but within the haze were swirling blue fires that danced against the winds like ballerinas. Every so often, one would go out just before someone screamed. Suddenly, two more lights could be seen, but these were molten bronze in color and were close together. _There you are!_ Without hesitation, she yelled, “There he is! Fire at will!” Aiming her Bofors, she pulled the trigger, emptying the rest of the clip. Others joined her in the hunt, but despite the early tip off, the warlock's eyes winked out of existence. Straining her ears of the crack of rifles and the boom of cannons, Mami couldn't tell if any of those shots connected. _Damn him! We need to flush him out!_ An idea came to her and she regarded Patricia who was loading another clip into her Lee Enfield. “Have you used your magic yet?” she asked while ducking back into the trench, hoping that she didn't.

Patricia looked at her subordinate and realized what she was asking, “I'm charging to up now, but I need to know exactly where he is for this work.” she informed.

The sergeant turned to what remained of the assembled force nearby and commented, “You heard the woman. Get your eyes over that trench wall and get her an answer. Now.” No salutes were given for they weren't needed, only action was required and a few brave soldiers mustered up the courage to risk their lives for the greater good, hiking up the trench wall and gazing out into no mans land.

For several long drawn out seconds, no one said a damn thing until one yelled at the top of his lungs, “He's over there! One o clock!” Relieved, Patricia began to bring her lions to bear on the target.”

“That's not where he is!” another soldier suddenly shouted. “He's at ten o clock!”

“Negative! He's dead ahead!” a witch retorted.

“That's impossible!” Inagaki countered forcefully. “He can't be in three places at the same time!”

 _What the fuck is going on here? Wait a minute!_ Patricia's eyes widened upon figuring out what was happening and hastily shouted, “They're illusions! He's using them to get a bead on us! Get away from the-” The rest of her warning was drowned out by a multitude of sharp crackling hisses. A split second later, those few men and women that acted as her eyes fell backwards, shrieking as some strange yellow energy ate away their skulls, flesh, hair, bone, and brain, all flaking away like paper in a fire. Horrified, the American backed away against the far wall. Fear gripped her psyche and she started to shake uncontrollably. _We have no chance against him! We're all going to die! We're all going to-_ Another detonation rumbled the ground beneath her feet, this one much closer and much more visible. On the far right, some two hundred feet away from their position, was a large hole that had opened up from the trench floor itself, bodies flying away like scared birds. Throwing caution to the winds, Patricia's body unconsciously started to move towards it, the move causing looks of bewilderment to appear on the faces of the nearby soldiers under her command.

Inagaki's reaction was less than passive. She reached out and grabbed her friend firmly by the arm, the nails digging into her skin through the uniform. “What the hell are you doing Patricia?! Snap out of it!” she exclaimed, giving her a violent shake for emphasis.

“Oh, you're approaching me?” a booming voice called out from within the hole in the earth, drawing everyone's attention. Out from the abyss, emerging like a soul rising to heaven from the body, the warlock made his presence known. However, it was hard to determine at first who or even what it was. A long day of vicious combat had taken a lot of magic and thus a lot of blood. What was once a mask of red was now a walking bloodstain, the uniform soaked clean through, vitae of all shades and states of being hanging of him like liquid sheets. The boots made squelching noises as it set down, the bronze eyes looking over the petrified men and women. “What do you hope to accomplish by doing that?” it finished.

“To kick your fucking ass and send it back to Hell!” the American snapped back, her right hand crackling green from the aetheric buildup.

A look of amusement washed over the warlock's face, clotted crimson the size of silver dollars flaking off his skin. “Then by all means, approach away.” he encouraged, proceeding to slowly walk towards them.

Ignoring the incoming doom, Patricia focused all her attention on getting her magic charged up. Some of the nearby soldiers screamed in terror and tried to run away, but the sergeant hauled them back, chastising them for their cowardice. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the summoning magic reached its full charge and Patricia slammed her right hand on the ground. Within a heartbeat, five mighty lions manifested, their eyes gazing at the warlock with an inhuman hunger, growling loudly. “Take this!” she defiantly yelled. Her words sparked the summoned lions to action, the whole group racing forwards, their powerful legs making two hundred feet look easier to traverse than getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. She watched her pride close the distance with a smile, anticipating the fight that was to come. No such emotion could be seen on the face of the warlock who regarded the threat before it and merely snapped its fingers. The sandbags on the lip of the trench line ruptured and the soil within leaked out, swirling like a whirlwind before it, masking its movements. _That's not going to work you bastard. My lions have your position all locked down._ The lions drove on through the cloud, roaring with bared teeth. For the next few seconds that transpired, the sounds of a struggle could be heard, the summoned predators engaging the warlock with gusto. Patricia grew frustrated upon not being able to witness the fight, yet contented herself with listening in. Then, a series of violent snaps of bone followed by the tearing of sinew echoed in the air, then a slam of something heavy, the shicking of something sharp entering flesh. One by one, the bellows of the beasts grew less and less and Patricia felt cold sweat run down the back of her neck. Something moved within the haze, making Mami raise her Bofors.

“Wait!” the American ordered, staying her friend's hand. The shape gradually gained more definition as it came closer towards them. A shade of green could be discerned long before a lone lion came into full view. Long deep slashes marked its flanks, the jaw was broken, one eye hung out of the socket like a hanging ceiling light, and one of the rear legs was lopped off at the ankle, giving the creature a noticeable limp. The witch's mind grew relieved. _One of them survived so that means the warlock must surely be dead. Strange that I don't feel tired after using my magic like I normally am._ Suddenly, with the speed of a leopard, the said warlock ran out of the cloud, the hands now equipped with long talons. The lion had no chance to get away or even make a pitiful attempt to defend itself before those long claws on the right hand sank deep between the shoulder blades, piercing the heart. It sank to the ground without a sound and what transpired next was so chilling that it was permanently burned into Patricia's mind forever. Viscous green ichor was being leached out of the dead lion, the liquid seeping under the warlock's skin, making the veins bulge as it took it all in. With every passing moment, the eyes of the warlock started to change color from bronze to a verdant green. It regarded her and smiled cruelly as it pointed at her and everyone else with its left hand. “Don't mind if I do.” he uttered. Lines of coruscating green energy followed the prominent veins down towards the splayed fingers. Patricia didn't want to stick around to see what happened next, whipping her body backwards and beating a hasty retreat. “Get away from it! Run!” was all she managed to say before the warlock unleashed his foul magic, rays of green projecting from all five digits. They found purchase easily in the chests and backs of the soldiers, blowing holes the size of hubcaps in them.

Running for dear life, Patricia and Inagaki went stride for stride, their Strikers giving them a advantage over their counterparts who were paying the price one magical bolt at a time. “We need to get to the bunker now!” Mami suggested, firing over her right shoulder, not caring if the shots hit their own or not.

“I know that!” Patricia retorted. She thought about how feeble her magic was against the warlock and cursed. _I had him right where I wanted him._ The words made her think of Abigail who said the exact same thing just before she died. _Was all of our efforts in vain? Did the mistress know that this would happen?_ Suddenly, her legs felt much heavier than usual and her pace started to slow down when they got into the last trench line before the bunker. Her heart beat faster to compensate, but nothing it did helped the onset of fatigue. She looked at Inagaki who was nearly twelve feet in front of her and creating more distance between them. “Wait up!” she called out just as her legs gave out.

Inagaki stopped dead in her tracks and turned around just in time to see her friend collapse in a heap to the ground, her face drained of color. “Patricia!” she roared. She revved up her Strikers and flew to the American, looking her over for wounds all the while. _She's not injured. What's going on?_ Once she got close enough, she went into a hover and picked her up. “Are you alright?” she frantically inquired, slinging Patricia over her shoulder.

“I don't know what's going on with me.” Patricia replied, wearily shaking her head. “One second I'm fine and then I'm like this.” Another aetheric discharge behind them reverberated in the air and Mami physically felt her friend gasp. Though she didn't have any knowledge of the situation, the Japanese witch connected the dots as she moved away, making a beeline for the bunker.

“He absorbed your power somehow and is using it against us.” she illuminated. “That's probably why you didn't feel anything when you used it back there.”

“Fuck.” Patricia groaned. “He's going to have a field day. I used everything I had to augment their strength and speed. I'm sorry Mami.”

“Shut your mouth with that shit.” Inagaki countered, doing her best to find some silver lining in all of this. The pair turned a sharp corner and they came up to the bunker entrance where two men were in the process of closing the door. “Hold up! We have the commander! She's hurt!” she demanded. Shocked, the duo stopped what they were doing and moved away at the last moment as the witch whizzed on past them, the rotors of her Strikers narrowly missing their legs. The confines were cramped with the amount of soldiers around, but she deftly maneuvered to the far lower right corner, the most protected part of the structure and set Patricia's limp exhausted form down back first against the wall. The American's eyes were flickering and the breathing came out in ragged gasps. “Don't you quit on me!” Mami shouted, delivering a few quick slaps with her right hand across her friend's cheek.

One, two, three blows connected, and Patricia rocked her head back into the concrete wall, eyes wide open. Her left hand reached out and grabbed Inagaki's top. She drew her in close and managed to whisper, “Listen to me.” With her other free hand, she fumbled her fingers in her right breast pocket and produced her purple vial.

The Japanese witch's head went from side to side. “I refuse Patricia.” she emphatically stated. “You can't make me.”

“Shut the fuck up and shove that pride of yours up your ass.” the American muttered, her right hand shaking from weakness. “I'm all used up. There's no point in saving me. There's going to be a lot of fighting before the end and Matilda needs the best there is to help her. You're better than me Inagaki and we both know it. Take it, please. One of us has to make it and it has to, no, it needs to be you.”

Tears welled up in Mami's eyes, seeing her comrade lying there in such a state and being powerless to do anything about it. “Patricia, are you sure?” she asked. Instead of an answer, Patricia used everything she had left and tossed the vial to her. The witch caught it awkwardly and gave her friend a hug. “Die well.” she said.

“You too.” Patricia replied with a small smile. “Have a drink for me tonight okay?” Mami nodded and broke the embrace, wiping away a lone tear that squeezed out. She then took a few steps backwards and closed her fingers around the vial hard. The glass vessel gave easily and in an instant, she was clad in purple shadows. They lasted for not even a second and went away, leaving nothing to mark her passing. _Hopefully that will amount to something in the end._ Another blast of her stolen power went off close by and struck the door with the force of an 88mm shell. Patricia didn't have the luxury of being awake to see what happened next, and her body started to slide down the wall of the bunker, her strength all but spent and her eyes beginning to close. _At least this will be painless._

*****************

Helga emptied the last shot in her clip at the last enemy soldier she found still clinging to life. The bullet entered in the chest right over the heart. The man tried to scream, but both his lungs were punctured. He died wordlessly fairly quickly and the lieutenant soon busied herself with fishing out another clip from her ammo belt. As she did so, Von Kreiger listened to the explosions getting further and further away and the gunshots slowly dying down. They had carried the day and all there was left to do was mop up what was left. Judging from the mass of corpses that were stacked almost knee deep in the trench, Aaron had been through here recently. Many were riddled with large caliber gunshot wounds, others sliced or torn limb from limb, and a few looked like they had been liquefied through some magic spell. Despite the massacre, she still found people to kill in its wake. It was the fourth she encountered and it really surprised her. _Aaron usually leaves no survivors when he barges on through. He butchered my men in the dungeon at Dover Castle without any fuss. Strange to see so many still alive here. What's going on in his head?_ She slammed the clip home and racked the bolt just before she started to hear footsteps right behind her. Normally, the German would hunker down with the dead and preaim at the corner, waiting for the enemy to make a fatal mistake, but she knew there were none left, meaning that this was a friendly.

Instead, the woman turned around in time to see Audie peek around the corner, his cautious demeanor nearly making her laugh. “I don't bite.” she stated, walking towards him.

The American sighed with relief and stepped into the open, leaning against the trench wall for a quick rest. He then reached for his collar with his right hand and gently pulled down, revealing a small red mark on the side of his neck. “Then how do you explain this?” he queried with a wink. That made the pair laugh out loud for a second or two and then the conversation grew serious. “You've seen Aaron at all?” he asked, letting go of his collar and shouldering his Thompson.

Helga shook her head. “Not for a good minute. Last I checked he was making a beeline for the bunkers.” she replied.

“Then that's where we're going to go.” Murphy answered, leading the way. Von Kreiger said nothing as she followed her new found lover, stepping over the bodies and avoiding bloodstains like the plague. They made excellent progress and Audie consulted a few aerial reconnaissance photos that he managed to grab before he embarked. They showed an overhead view of the defenses. _Now let's see now... We hit the beach on the left so that should place us here. Then we split up and worked through there and there so we're probably going to be right on top of it come this corner._ The said landmark was coming up fast and Audie put the pictures away. No sooner did they find a spot in his back pocket than the both heard what sounded like a clap of thunder just beyond the corner. Nothing was said, but they had the same idea and quickened the pace. They came up to the corner within moments, placing their backs to the trench wall. Murphy turned to Helga and mouthed a silent countdown. (One, two, three). As one, they rounded the corner and looked down their sights, searching for targets. There was only one figure ahead of them, one covered in blood and strange green lightning that sparked and sputtered with its right hand pointed at what remained of the steel door to the bunker, smoke billowing out of the hole. The arm dropped down to the side and the lone individual turned around. Von Kreiger gasped when she saw the glowing bronze eyes with a tiny hint of green remaining, realizing at once that it was Aaron.

“I trust you had little trouble from the locals?” he asked, his voice betraying no emotion.

“Not really.” Helga answered, lowering her gun and looking over at the warlock with a mixture of worry and disgust. _Good God, he's utterly buried in the stuff. I can smell it from here._ “Are you alright?' she inquired.

“Been better, been worse.” Divale responded with a shrug.

“That all clear?” Audie asked, gesturing with his submachine gun.

“Not yet, but it will be soon.” the warlock informed. “Mark this as taken and stand outside the door. Whatever you see or hear, don't interfere.”

The last sentence baffled the pair and they tried to ask why, but Aaron was already moving inside the bunker, ducking his head to avoid clonking it against the low ceiling. His eyes adjusted to the dim light within, his orbs panning over the dead bodies that laid in front of him. The summoning magic had all but obliterated them to the point where not even their own mothers would be able to tell who they were. Content, he then looked over at the right hand corner and paused. There, lying off to her side was a five chevroned witch, her chest ever so slightly moving up and down. Divale furrowed his brow as he wondered how he missed her. _This is that witch that I absorbed the magic from. A Patricia if I remember right._ A groan emanated from Patricia and her eyelids started to shiver like someone caught out in the cold without a coat. He raised his right hand once more, but did nothing else. Deep down, he felt pity and allowed himself to let go of what remained of her magic, green goo dripping from the tips of his fingers. It wasn't very much, a few drops at most, but he was confident that they were enough to at least give her the strength to sit up. They hit the concrete floor with nary a sound and snaked their way towards their master. Once they reached her hands, they dissolved through the skin, vanishing without a trace.

Patricia then breathed in deep and opened her eyes, seeing nothing but the dark wall of the bunker. _How long was I out?_ Pain registered in her legs, but it was nothing serious, just the burn from running. In her peripheral, the witch noted that the bunker door was completely gone, nothing but a pool of still steaming slag. Memories came flooding back to her and she stiffened. _That looks very recent! Where is he!? Where is the warlock!?_ That was when she started to smell something off, a cloying scent of hot sand. She didn't want to turn around, but her body and head did so anyway, disobeying her brain's orders. The first thing she saw was a pair of bloody boots, small rivulets of crimson being squeezed out of the leather by wiggling toes. Her head tilted upwards, peering over two blood soaked legs, a large tomato colored chest, and finally the caked face of the warlock who simply stood there glaring down at her with its right hand pointed at her. _This is how it ends for me. He's going to rape me._

Before she could do anything, the warlock flicked his right wrist towards him and Patricia's emergency ejection lever was pulled down, the Strikers disengaging from her legs and sped across the floor far away from her. Her ammunition belt went with them along with her sidearm and knife. In one fell swoop, she was defenseless, but instead of despair, the witch felt anger as she sat there before the warlock. “I see what you did there.” she jabbed, hate in every word. “You want me to be awake for this. You want to hear me scream as you have your way with me isn't that right you sick fuck? I may not be able to defend myself, but if you think you're going to have an easy time, think again. Come near me and I'll bite your fucking face off. So come on monster. Get it over with.” The warlock said nothing and patted his hands all over his chest, looking like he was searching for something. Patricia watched him as he took out a stained pack of cigarettes and a still slick butane lighter. “What are you waiting for?!” she cried out. “Just do it!” The warlock ignored her and fished out an untouched cigarette, lit it, and casually let the pack and lighter fall to the concrete. _What the fuck is he doing? Why is he simply standing there?_

As she finished that thought, the creature moved, but it went downwards, crossing the legs and sat down on the ground. A deep sigh came out of the mouth, patches of dried blood falling off the lips and cheeks. “Finally,” it breathed, the voice worn and tired, “a chance to sit down and rest.” He regarded the witch, her eyes glaring at him in fear and loathing. “Sorry, I ignored you, but it's been a tough day for me today. Very tough. Started out early this morning at Gibraltar. Nasty bit of business that and only just got back to the FOB when I get the order to go back out again. Didn't want to go, but what the lieutenant says goes. Get here and the whole thing's F.U.B.A.R. Had to put in some overtime, and as you can plainly see, it came with a hefty price tag. To cap it all off, now I'm sitting down in a bunker with a witch that's yelling her head off and who's dead convinced that I'm going to rape her senseless before gutting her like a fish.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly through his nostrils, the scent of tobacco and blood creating a curious aroma. “Of course, I can't blame you at all for thinking that Patricia. I too have heard the stories. Though I've never seen it happen where I was, it doesn't mean that it didn't occur. That and I haven't exactly been the nicest person you've had to deal with.”

 _That's the understatement of the century._ Patricia peered deep into the warlock's eyes, looking for any signs of falsehood. “If you aren't here for that, why are you here then? To interrogate me?”

“Sort of.” the warlock replied, taking the cigarette out of his mouth with his right hand.

“Good fucking luck with that.” Patricia stiffly stated, turning her head away. “You're not getting shit out of me. Not in a million years.”

“Were you one of the witches that attacked the British encampment at Dongola? You fought one of my squadron members, a German colonel am I right?” the warlock asked.

The question made Patricia tilt her head back towards the warlock a fraction of an inch. “What's it to you if I was?” she haughtily inquired.

A long drawn out second passed before the mouth of the warlock opened up and said, “I'm sorry about your friend.” The response made Patricia's eyes widen and her jaw dropped open and hung there for all to see. Another drag later and the warlock continued. “It was never my intention to kill her in the first place. All I wanted was information. If she told me what I wanted to know and promised me that she would depart peacefully, I really would've let her leave. I even went slower to give her a chance to get out of there, but she didn't budge. Reasoning with her didn't work and I was forced to fight her. Though you can't really see it now, she did quite a number on me, but she had no chance to win. She knew that and still fought. Boggled my mind then why she did what she did.” He balled his left hand into a fist and placed it under his chin. “Now that I see you here with me, I think I know why. She was fighting to protect you from me. Thinking about it, I would've done the same thing.”

Patricia blinked several times and her lips moved as her brain tried to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing, but try as she might, nothing that came to her made any logical conclusions. Finally, she found her voice and tentatively asked, “Why are you telling me these things? What are you trying to accomplish? I'm the enemy. What you're doing is-”

“Pointless?” the warlock blurted, interrupting the witch. “A waste of time? Futile?” He took another puff from his cigarette and explained. “I have several reasons why I telling you this, one of them being that you and everyone else that I've fought against over these three months were never my enemy and we were never enemies to you either. You see, a true enemy is trained to hate you and everything about you. It's a coping mechanism that leaders use to help manage the consequences of one's actions in the field, to justify the slaughter to the press and public at large. In our cases, we weren't trained to hate each other, we were forced to hate each other.” He paused and pointed at Patricia's heart. “That Neuroi core there makes it so that you have no choice in the matter. I'm willing to bet that something within your mind is screaming at you to stand up and attack me, to kill me and my friends. Did you really want to do that in the beginning?”

Patricia felt compelled to answer and responded, “No. None of us that fell into their hands did. But you have no idea how powerful that compulsion is, how much pain it will put you through. It never stops talking to you. You hear it every second you live and breathe. It was nothing but suffering for us and one by one we broke down and started relishing the violence, thinking that if we did what the voice told us, it would make the pain stop. But it didn't. It only made it harder to resist.”

“I know that feeling more than you know.” the warlock pointed out. “In fact, I'd say that despite being on opposite sides, we are all the same. Both of us two wayward souls trapped in a situation where the only outcome is you or me. Neither of us stand to gain anything by our deaths except bleeding ourselves white and losing our humanity in the process.” He then readjusted himself and added, “Speaking of losing, I had an old friend of mine, a brother practically, who always watched over me, making sure that I was alright. Problem was that I was never alright. I constantly bottled up my feelings and emotions inside of me. Not very healthy I know, but I didn't know any better. One day, he pulled me aside and told me that nothing good ever came from keeping things locked away inside, that the only way to get better was to clear your conscience now and then with someone be it a friend or a complete stranger, because you don't ever want to leave this world with regret.”

He stopped there and watched as the witch siting across from him experienced the revelation that he was trying to impart to her. Once it set in, he held up the cigarette, the cherry within a quarter puff away from the butt. The gesture caused Patricia to start crying, tears streaming down her face, knowing that her time was running out. “It's not fair!” she loudly choked, holding her hands over her eyes. “It's not right! I don't want to die! I don't deserve to die like this! I shouldn't even be here right now! When we were done here, I was going to go to see my folks back in Chicago! Haven't seen them since I got deployed almost two years ago! I can see them now, dad smiling and saying how proud he is of me and mom giving me the biggest warmest hug! Then we'd all go to our favorite pizza place, order and pie, and chat the hours away! And now that's never going to happen! I'm going to die in this shithole and be forgotten like everyone else! I had dreams that one day when this war was over, I'd go travel the world and meet some man that I'd marry and settle down with! We'd have children and watch them grow up together and when we're both old and gray, we'd pass on watching the sunset on our porch in our rocking chairs!”

Suddenly, she felt two warm arms embrace her. She took her hands off her face and saw the warlock holding her tight. “You don't deserve to die Patricia. Not one single person that I killed today, yesterday, and every day before that. They should've lived on and realized those dreams. If there was any way that I could help you, I would do it in a heartbeat. To hell with the price.” he stated sadly. He broke the embrace, large flakes of blood all over Patricia's face and upper body and reached out with both his hands, taking her head into them, fingers at the back of her neck and the palms against the cheeks. “Are you ready?”

Patricia sniffled and coughed away the tears and wiped any moisture with the back of her left hand. “What is your name?' she asked, staring deep into the warlock's eyes.

“Aaron.” the warlock answered.

Patricia smiled and stated, “When I first saw you, I thought you were the Antichrist made manifest. When you killed my friend, I wanted nothing more than to end your life, to exact vengeance for what you did to her. Now I want nothing more than your happiness. You've changed my mind about you. Sitting here, hearing you speak, made me realize that you're no different from me. You're more human than I am. Thank you Aaron.”

Aaron did not reply with words, but with actions. With a sharp quick twist, he snapped Patricia's neck cleanly. Holding her body firmly with just two hands, he lowered it gently to the concrete floor of the bunker and closed the eyes with his right hand. “Wherever you are now Patricia, rest in peace.” he intoned.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy is narrowly avoided and a thorn is excised. However, even in death, the hands of the enemy reach beyond the grave to claim another victim. With no other options, Aaron is called upon to venture into unknown waters to save the life of a certain lieutenant.

_ **Chapter XXI: Crime and Punishment** _

_Three days. Three God damn days and I could kiss North Africa goodbye and head for greener pastures, but no. Fate had to shove shit right into my face once again. Still, unlike most situations that suck me back into a place that I don't want to go, this might be that single rare case where both sides stand to benefit. The only question that remains is, will she be willing to accept me protecting her?_

Diary Entry July 5th 1944

The morning sun had yet to rise, but there was activity in and among the rocks of the small ridge that overlooked the southern fringes of Oran. Looking out over the lip into the small valley below her, the neophyte laid down on the cool stone and got out her sniper rifle, a Kar 98K. She calmly opened the breech by pulling the bolt back and inserted the rounds one at a time, doing her best to not make any undue noise. _That warlock is down there in that valley somewhere from what I've been told. Even though I'm half a mile away, there's no telling if he can hear such things. Don't take any chances. Just wait for the sun to come up, take a shot or two at the first person that gets up, and crack the vial._ She racked the bolt and flicked it down, shutting the breech. Her watch read 0545. _Sunrise is in fifteen to twenty minutes. Won't be long now._

*****************

Murphy stirred in his sleeping bag, moaning as his eyes cracked open. He rolled over to the left side, reached out with his right hand at his watch, and saw that it was almost six in the morning. Sighing, he let the timepiece drop to the tent floor and laid back down on the pillow. “Way too early in the morning.” he whispered to himself. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his chest, the fingers massaging his muscles and pushing the dog tags around his neck with a slight jingle. Looking over to his right, he came face to face with the cat eyes of Helga, her lips forming a broad smile.

“I agree.” she softly replied. Then she leaned over him and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. Audie rolled to the right and held her waist with both hands, feeling her naked form press against his. “Maybe we should've taken our time last night.” she suggested with a wink, putting her arms around his neck.

“Or had a touch less to drink.” the American countered with a grin. The lovers laughed as they held each other close. Ever since his confession on board the Yamato, they were practically inseparable. So much so that when immediately after Tangiers was taken, they got placed in the same Higgins during the invasion of Oran yesterday. Unlike Tangiers, the landings went much smoother due to lack of enemy forces and the city was taken within hours. Patton's forces coming up from Casablanca were scheduled to be there by the afternoon and link up with the rest of those that landed. As for them, the 31st were given a period of rest as a thank you from the general himself. With nothing better to do, they all cracked open a few bottles and talked, drank, ate, and danced the night away. Strangely however, Air Commander Neumann had to depart halfway through festivities after getting a message on her comms. She didn't say why or even who called, just up and left without so much as a courtesy goodbye. It laid heavily on everyone's mind, even Audie's for some odd reason. _It really shouldn't though. Why and where she went is no concern to me. Yet, why do I get this feeling that it's something bad?_

Helga detected the unease in her partner's eyes and asked, “What's wrong?”

Murphy broke out of his thoughts and replied, “Just thinking about Neumann. Just awfully strange that she would just up and leave without an explanation don't you think?”

Von Kreiger wanted to dismiss the notion on the spot and have them both think about other things, but the question simply stood there right in front of her, demanding attention like some pesky cat. “Yeah. I haven't really gotten to know her, but I can tell that is isn't like her at all.” she agreed.

“Has to be something big.” the American lieutenant conjectured. “Haven't a fucking clue what it could be though.”

“You could always talk to Aaron.” Helga suggested, gesturing to the closed tent flap. “He's pretty good at figuring things out.”

 _Hmmm. That's a good idea._ “Well,” Murphy uttered as he let go off Helga and sat up, “no time like the present.” He flew off the sleeping bag covers and felt the slight desert morning chill. Being a southern man, he hated the cold with a fiery passion, but waking up next to her took that bitter edge off the mornings. Reaching for his briefs, he quickly slipped them on and looked around for his pants. After not readily finding them, he grew puzzled as to why. _I could've sworn that I threw them over by my backpack. Wait a second, was it my backpack?_ Out of curiosity, he turned and look over at Von Kreiger's backpack and saw to his relief his pants, hanging like a dirty flag on the barrel of her Mauser. He politely got up and gave Helga her space while she put her clothes back on so he could retrieve his pants. The German lieutenant had just finished putting on her panties and was slipping her arms into her white tshirt, eschewing the bra for now. Glancing over at him, she shook her head and smiled. _You keep losing the darnedest things don't you Audie?_ She contented herself with just watching him put his pants on and drawing the belt tight around his waist. When Audie turned around and saw that she was staring at him, he inquired, “What?”

Von Kreiger put her right hand under her chin and explained, “I have to be honest, you look so much better with them off.”

Murphy slumped his shoulders and picked up her backpack by the right arm strap, carrying it with him and setting it down by her. He then leaned over and gave her a peck on the left cheek. “I have to put in effort to look good; you do it without even trying.” he cooed. That made her smile even more and she followed him with her eyes as he walked to the tent flap and opened it up. Helga then turned away to get the rest of her uniform on, but something in her peripheral gave her pause. Regarding the sight, he focused intently on whatever it was that drew her attention away from her task. The eyes found an odd flicker of light high up on the crest of a ridge half a mile away, the sunrise making it sparkle like a diamond. Most people would explain this away as a trick of light and perception, but most people didn't have military training and all that knowledge made Helga realize in an instant what it was. _A sniper's scope!_ Quickly, she grabbed her rifle, shouting as she did so, “Sniper! Get down!” Audie immediately hit the deck and covered his head with his arms as Von Kreiger whipped the gun around and aimed at the twinkle in the distance.

A crack of a rifle echoed in the air, but it didn't come from a friend. Just as the German lieutenant got the butt of the Mauser full on her shoulder, a bullet smacked into the top of the gun, ricocheting off the ball of the bolt, and buried itself into her left leg. Helga screamed in pain as her body slumped to the side, her hand so focused on holding onto the weapon that she had nothing to brace herself with when she fell to the ground. Murphy saw her hit the earth and he immediately rolled over, positioning himself so that the next shot would hit him instead of her. Glancing at where Von Kreiger was aiming, he momentarily saw a light far away. _So this is how it all ends for me._ Suddenly, his world was wrapped in darkness and he blinked twice, confused as how dawn could got to dusk so quickly. However, reason clarified everything for him as the darkness took on the shape of wings, the color a shade of red from the sunrise. Before them, knelt Aaron, his eyes filled with purpose and hands clutching his antitank gun. “Cover your ears!” he commanded. The lovers barely had enough time to get the first fingers of their hands on their lobes when he pulled the trigger, sending a seventeen pound shot through the air at the sniper's position. A few seconds later, roughly half a mile away, a patch of earth could be seen lifting up into the air like a geyser long before the explosion was heard. Divale saw the damage, but didn't take any chances. _There could be more of the fuckers around here._ While loading another round, he took a quick gander at Helga's condition. Audie was already at work taking off his belt and looping it around her left leg to stem the bleeding wound. _It's not bad. The ricochet took most of the force out of the bullet. At best a flesh wound, but it's going to hurt getting it out._

He'd barely completed that though when a high pitched whine came on his communicator, a sound so shrill that he yelped in pain and fished it out with his right index finger. The warlock cradled his the side of his head and grunted, his jaw clenched. _What the fuck was that? It can't be feedback because I'm not on a channel so what on earth could it be?_ Looking down at his comms, his mind worked at trying to find an explanation, but he could find none until a voice came over the radiowaves. It was riddled with static, but there was enough there to hear without too much effort. All it took was the first syllable for him to recognize the speaker and it took his breath away. Audie and Helga took an interest as to what was happening, their friend gazing down at his communicator like he was seeing a ghost, his body rooted to the spot and his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and fear. Von Kreiger ignored the pain in her leg as she listened in. _It's not a language I recognize, but I swear I've heard that voice from somewhere._ She started to open her mouth to ask Aaron something, but the warlock placed his right index finger to his lips, imploring her to be silent. With his free hand, he started writing in the sand. (We have snakes in Eden. Get me this signal's point of origin, but do it quietly.)

******************

The neophyte collapsed to the ground, the impact sending sand in all directions. Her knees took the full force and she cried out in agony. Her rifle was long gone, left behind in her panic upon seeing the warlock aim and fire at her. Thankfully, she reacted fast enough to get a hand on her vial and crushed it, but the magic had to take time to charge up, time that nearly cost her when the shell hit her position. It was well aimed to be sure and it slammed within an inch of her, the concussive force blowing her backwards. Moments away from hitting the side of a group of rocks, the magic kicked in and spirited her away to safety. She chuckled to herself upon thinking of that word. _Safety? What the hell is that? There's no safety anymore. They've lost this stupid war._ Her head moved this way and that, her body feeling like it needed to shut down for a while to recover, but the neophyte bit her bottom lip hard and forced herself onto her feet. _I can't be here. I need to get inside._ Forcing her head up, she looked right in front of her and saw her sanctuary, an abandoned two story inn near an oasis that was on its last legs. It was in decent shape, but there were signs of neglect everywhere on the outside. The roof had a few holes and the stone façade was pitting and scoured from sandstorms. Piles of sand lined the left side of the structure, looking like buttresses to some European cathedral. On the right side however, two winding pipes lead to a pair of troughs where camels could drink from. All it took was the twisting of a simple metal spout and the precious liquid would flow. The windows and door were shut tight, as to be expected, but she knew that someone was home. _My partner's here. They'll help me._ “Hello!” she called out, staggering forwards, her spine unable to fully straighten out. Walking like a hunchback to the stone steps, her legs could barely lift off the ground. “It's me! Open the door! I'm hurt!” she bellowed.

Her balance was thrown violently off by a small collection of pebbles near the last step, her tired body slamming into the rough hewn rock, the head within a hairs breath of nearly rocking off the door. The neophyte tried again to get to her feet, but the body overruled the mind and her legs refused to cooperate. Instead, she beat the door with her balled fists, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Open up! Please open up! I can't be out here! In the name of God open the door! Open the fucking door!” The outburst consumed the last bit of her strength and she slumped against the still closed portal to salvation, the right ear flush with the wood. Straining her hearing as best as she could given the circumstances, the neophyte could hear nothing beyond the threshold. _What is going on? They should be here by now._ Tears welled up in her eyes as her vision started to blur. “Please.... help....me.” she muttered softly. She tried to say something more, but her mouth couldn't get the words out in time as her consciousness gave up, her face sliding down the door until she collapse into a heap.

***************

Two pinpricks of low lighting shined brightly overhead, but it was too much for a pair of groggy eyes to bear. They closed fully and as they did so, the other senses began to take over, gathering information. The ears could hear soft footsteps on wood nearby and something lukewarm was across the forehead. Pain still registered all up and down her body, but it was more manageable. Fingers absentmindedly flexed and retracted, moving along a polished hard surface. Slowly, the eyes started to open again, only this time, the neck tilted to the right before doing so, avoiding the harsh light. Degree by weary painful degree, the world revealed itself and the neophyte found herself not outside, but inside of the inn. At present, she was staring at the main reception area, a long blue carpet leading towards the door where a row of ornate brass coat hangers and a lone cane pot stood silent guard. Spaced out here and there were small tables and cushions on top of them, dusty and moth ridden. There was a layer of dust almost everywhere on looked save for several patches that led like a path towards the receptionist's desk where she was lying down on. Looking at them, she discovered that they were footprints, but just one set of them. _Seems like my partner carried me in. Speaking of which..._ Moving her head around to the other side, she soon saw the other neophyte that had assisted her on this mission. She met him during the last foray when she placed the package for General Rommel in the mailbag as she was sneaking out of the camp. After some questioning, he revealed that he was sent by the mistress herself to aid her in anyway he could. It wasn't easy to get the information out of him, for he appeared to be a deaf mute who only communicated with hand gestures, body language, and small damn near indecipherable scribbles on pieces of paper. He was sitting down in a chair, sipping on a glass of water. A basin of water lay near his feet, along with a pair of dry rags.

Finding her strength once more, the neophyte gritted her teeth and sat up, the agony harsh, but tolerable. Whatever it was that was one her head slide off and fell to the floor with a wet plop. It was a wrung out rag and she almost cursed herself for letting that fall, but thought against it. _There's no point in bitching about the small things._ Her counterpart noticed her stirring and regarded her, the face hidden by the cowl. “Thank you for helping me back there.” the neophyte stated. A nod was the only reply followed by a single finger being extended from the left hand and making a question mark in the air followed by forming a gun. She knew what she meant and answered, “It didn't work. I missed the shot and had to get out of there to avoid the warlock. We failed.” The hidden man snapped his fingers and shook his head dismissively. He then made a gun with his left hand again and mimicked shooting twice. This time, the neophyte shook her head in the negative. “There's no way we're trying again. That was the only vial we had and we should start to get moving as soon as possible. Their position is only ten miles away from here.” Her silent friend nodded and got up from his chair, placing the glass of half drunk water off to the side. Then he offered her his right hand to help her get up and off the tall desk. She took it and she was amazed at his warmth. _Wow. It's almost like he's got a fever or something._ As he helped her off the desk and onto her feet, he cocked his head off to the side. “It's nothing really, but you seem to be very warm. Are you alright? Do you have a fever?”

“A fever doesn't burn within me.” the man suddenly and unexpected replied as he started to take a hold of his cowl with both hands. The neophyte's eyes widened upon hearing the voice, for she knew who it belonged to in an instant. _No! No! No! It can't be!_ Her legs gave out in fear and she started trembling, her gaze locked to the man revealing himself. The hood was violently thrown backwards and where it once stood was now taken up by the stern face of Aaron Divale, who looked upon her with righteous anger. “It's the fires of vengeance.” he added, his lips barely moving as he spoke. “You have five seconds.”

Her mind at first didn't catch the meaning behind the odd choice of words, but her body had no intention of sticking around to find out the hard way. Scrambling to her feet, she vaulted over the desk and made a beeline for the door. However, the portal opened up and a bevy of enemy soldiers poured in, witches and humans alike, aiming their guns at her heart. She stopped dead in her tracks and backed up a single step before bumping into something behind her. She yelped in fright and spun around, coming face to chest with the warlock was looking intently at his watch for another split second before regarding her. “Times up my dear.” Aaron observed, lowering his right arm. His comrades formed a circle around the doomed neophyte, angling themselves so that she had no chance to escape. “How about you end this masquerade of yours and show us who you really are?” he asked politely.

Marseilles watched the spectacle and grew impatient. _Why doesn't he just kill her and be done with it? Why does he drag this out? We're in the middle of fucking nowhere and out of position. Least I told command the situation and got that cleared at the eleventh hour or else we'd be in deep shit._ Reluctantly, the enemy removed her cowl and Hanna gasped in awe. Standing before them all, was Tatiana, her face full of regret and terror, her bottom lip quivering. “What the hell?!” she exclaimed. Reaching for her ankh, the lieutenant found it and held it up to her right eye, looking right through the loop. More questions than answers filled her mind as the magical device revealed nothing out of the ordinary. A human heart beat within the traitor's chest. “She's not one of them.” the witch murmured, her remark triggering a bevy of hushed whispers.

“And yet she worked for them.” Divale pointed out. He controlled his composure and began grilling Nabakov. “You tried to kill Helga and Audie, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't the first time you had one of us in your sights am I right?” he inquired.

“Aaron, you need to hear me o-” the Russian tried to explain, but Divale would hear none of it, throwing a backhand faster than the wind across her face that knocked her flat to the floor.

“I didn't ask for an explanation.” he curtly countered. “I asked for an answer.”

Groaning, Tatiana responded, “You're right. It wasn't the first time. I was at Sirte and I was the one that blew up that bunker.”

Amelie's hands balled into fists and she racked the bolt to her rifle. “You killed Juliette you bitch!” she screamed. “I'll fucking kill you!”

Nabakov closed her eyes, not wanting to look upon the one whose friend she killed, waiting for the shot to send her to her deserved place in Hell. The shot didn't come, but a harsh rebuke did. “Back off Amelie!” Divale barked. “As I told Hanna, this is my mess and it's my responsibility to clean it up!” The Russian opened her eyes just in time to see two large hands take a hold of her shoulders, holding her firmly in place. “So you admit to killing one of my friends.” he mused aloud. “That doesn't sit too well with me or anyone else here Tatiana. You betrayed not only your kind, not only my squadron members, but myself as well.” He gestured with his head over at Audie who supported Helga and Edmund. “Those three people have witnessed first hand what happens when people betray me and kill people that I deeply care about.” Aaron squeezed the meat of Tatiana's shoulders a tad harder, making her wince. “I trusted you. Do you have any idea how much my trust is worth?”

“A-A-Aaron,” Nabakov stammered, trying to find her voice. “p-p-please listen to m-m-me-”

“More than all the riches this world and the next have to offer.” the warlock stated, ignoring her completely as he signaled for an opening in the circle to be made by separating two fingers in his right hand. It was hastily done and as soon as that gap appeared, he lifted the Russian woman off the ground and, with a roar of hatred, threw her across the room. She didn't have enough time to scream before her body slammed against the wall hard, the plaster cracking like eggshells. Her trip didn't end there. As she came down from the impact, her legs fell on a nearby table, the weight of the limbs not enough to snap the support pole so it tilted her lower half upwards and her top half downwards. Some in the room winced as Tatiana's head smacked into the hardwood floor and bounced violently while the rest looked on in passive silence. She started to cry in pain and Aaron bellowed over her cries, “And I gave it to you for free you ungrateful cunt!”

“I hope it hurts.” Helga remarked over the pitiful mewling of the traitor. “I hope it hurts like hell.”

“Please Aaron! Listen to me! I didn't want to do anyone any harm! They forced me to!” Nabakov sobbed loudly as Divale started to walk towards her with measured steps. Within two seconds he was upon her and he reached down and grabbed her by the hair with his left hand, pulling her up. “I can explain!” she screamed, tears rolling down her face as she felt strands of her blond locks being wrenched off her scalp.

The warlock rocked her back into the wall and pinned her in place with a knee to her pelvis. “I doubt that,” he replied, “but go right ahead. Tell me all about how you never wanted any of this to happen. At the very beginning if you please.”

The Russian breathed a small sigh of relief, a gesture that made the warlock regard her with disgust more than mercy and she began to explain. “It was first day that I got to Alexandria. The directions I was given by the guide were far from clear and I spent at least two hours trying to find my way around. I didn't want to ask any of the soldiers because they'd want a favor in return and as for the locals I didn't trust them as far as I could see them and I couldn't speak the language well enough. I remember rounding a corner that led into an alleyway and I felt this sharp pain on the back of my head and then I'm out like a light. I come too and I'm in a dark room, bound to a chair with a gag over my mouth. I start to struggle, calling out for help. None arrived save for several cloaked figures that surrounded me. One pulled a picture out of their robes and, I swear to God on this, it was a photograph of my parents, tied to chairs like the one I was in. The presenter then leaned in and whispered in a low voice, 'If you want to see them again alive, you're going to do exactly what we tell you. I'm going to remove that gag now. You scream, I'll kill them right in front of you. You tell anyone, you'll find their heads tucked in your bed come the next morning.' I nod and the gag is removed. I ask what do they want and they all say in unison, 'Bring the warlock here.' ”

Divale's brow furrowed as she said that and grew very curious. “How did they know that you met me? Why did they want you to bring me here?” he asked.

Nabakov shook her head. “I don't know. I truly don't know. They wouldn't say anything except that they wanted you here and I was to get you here at all costs.” she answered.

“So that's how you managed to get Edytha to pull some strings and in the meantime cooked up some believable story to make it sound like you're merely doing the right thing.” Aaron deduced, displeased with how he allowed himself to be duped so easily. “I bet they gave you things to help you along the way?”

“They gave me a comm jammer. It was like a communion wafer, but much much smaller. It allowed me to tap into your frequency at all times without you knowing it.” Tatiana responded.

“Which now explains everything that occurred at Dongola and that inn near Baggush.” Marseilles chimed from the circle. She then regarded Aaron and commanded, “I think it's time to wrap things up. Kill her.”

“Now now lieutenant,” Divale countered, “it's rude to get up before the end of the show.” He glanced down at Nabakov and pointed with his right hand at the robes he wore. “Your friend didn't really say very much as he died, but he told me enough to know why he was really here with you Tatiana. His mission wasn't to help you, but to kill you.”

The Russian couldn't believe what she was hearing and her eyes widened in shock. “That's impossible! You lie! They'd never-” she retorted, but Divale twisted his left wrist hard, the anguish multiplying ten fold.

“Oh really?” he inquired jestingly. “You know as well as I do that this little war is about to end very soon. They have no hope of winning. Their cause is circling the drain. They're finished. You know way too much to be simply let go of. It would be better to deal with you than risk you telling us everything about them, being that you aren't one of them.” He paused and his ire went away, the face becoming somber. “To make matters worse Tatiana, they played you for a fool. They never had your parents. It was a staged shot made to look like the real thing. You were sold on a big fat lie and you took the bait hook, line, and sinker.”

“No!” Tatiana wailed, her head leaning forwards. “That's not true! It can't be!”

“Look me in the eyes Tatiana. What reason do I have to lie to you right now?” Aaron queried. He watched her head slowly move, seeing the streaks of moisture on her face, the redness in her blue eyes. Once their sharply contrasting orbs met, Nabakov searched for any signs of falsehood, but there was none to be found and the weeping continued, albeit silently now. The warlock said nothing, letting her grieve in peace.

“I never meant to take it this far.” the Russian muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to kill anyone, I swear it. I'm sorry. Good God, I'm so sorry.”

“I know you are.” Divale acknowledged. “However, that doesn't excuse what you did. True, you were tricked into doing their bidding, but you did it all the same. You have any idea how many people other than our friend you killed from the information that you gave them? Over one hundred thousand Tatiana. Let that number sink in. Can you imagine how many bodies that is? More still, can you imagine how many wives have now become widows, how many children orphans, or young loves that will never come to fruition?” Nothing was said from Tatiana's side and the warlock removed his knee from her lower abdomen. Taking a few steps back, her reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out his Ithaca. “I'll bet you feel terrible for what you've done, that you would take it all back if you could.” he stated. The woman's eyes widened in fear upon seeing the gun and she slumped down to the hardwood floor after the warlock pumped it. “Well, this is the first step.”

Nabakov held up her shaking hands and cried out, “Don't Aaron! Don' shoot! Please! It doesn't have to be like this! Just let me go and I'll disappear! I could go away, far away! You'll never see me again I swear! Or you could protect me!”

“You really think that they'll let you go that easily?” Aaron countered, aiming his weapon right at her heart. “They'll know soon enough that their little scheme failed to do you in. They'll send another and another until they put you down. If I were to take you in, I'd be endangering the lives of everyone in the squadron. This is the only way to solve this.” He paused and added after a good deal of thought, “For what it's worth, no hard feelings Tatiana.” With her fate sealed, Nabakov closed her eyes and waited. Soon afterwards, her ears hear a loud pump followed by the sounds of something hitting the floor with a tock and roll, almost like a marble getting away from a child's hand. Then another series of pumps occurred and the Russian opened her eyes. Shotgun shells ejected from the receiver as fast as Aaron pumped. Two, three, four, five, they just kept coming and coming until the entire magazine was empty. Her face brightened for a brief moment, thinking that she would be spared after all. Those hopes were quickly dashed when Divale flipped the shotgun up into the air slightly and caught it at the end of the barrel with his right hand. He then proceeded to slowly clap the wooden stock into his left, glaring at her lifelessly. _Oh no! Not like this! Not like this!_ The warlock turned to face the rest of the 31st, the looks on their faces as frightened as the Russians upon seeing how he was holding the shotgun and slowly coming to the realization as to what was about to happen. One by one, they backed away and briskly started to walk towards the door.

Tatiana's voice rang out as they about faced, “No! Please! Help me! Don't let him do this!”

“Why do you call out to them Tatiana?” Aaron asked calmly, keeping a close watch over the doomed traitor. “Like me, you betrayed them, killed one of their own. What makes you think that they'll ignore those facts and come to your rescue. You're a traitor and traitors aren't worth saving.” Those words of his choked any more outbursts and Nabakov watched helplessly as the last of the 31st walked out the door and closed it behind them, the sound of the door latching into place sounding like a hammer being drawn back. Now, there was no one around except for her and the warlock, the condemned and the executioner.

“Please Aaron.” she pleaded. “Not like this. You can do anything you want to me, but not that. Anything but that.”

“Give me one good reason why not.” Divale retorted, his patience clearly waning.

“I love you and you know you-” Tatiana began, but the warlock burst out laughing.

“Love?” Aaron blurted between his cruel, heartless chuckles. “There was never any love between us. I never had feelings for you beyond the urges. It was the same with you. Ever since I first met you on that pitch during that charity game back in England, I knew exactly what you wanted of me; a steady supply of cheap ass. That assumption was reinforced when we met at the Sayidat Alnaema. As far as I'm concerned, you were no better than a common whore and you fucked like one too.” He started to raise his right hand, the butt end of the shotgun menacingly poised to strike down.

“Please. Mercy please.” Nabakov babbled, her voice wavering.

“What do you think this is?” Aaron inquired without emotion just before he swung.

**************

Marseilles opened the top to her flask and nearly drained the whole thing in one go. The burn of the alcohol was harsh, but it was certainly more welcome than knowing what was going on behind the closed doors of the hotel some twenty feet away from where she sat. The rest of the squadron was scattered all around, some keeping watch while others sat on the ground smoking cigarettes or watching something off in the distance. Not a single word was spoken when they left that place and no one was smiling or making much eye contact with one another. Seeing what Aaron was about to do to Tatiana had shocked them all to their cores. It hit Hanna most of all and try as she might, she couldn't wrap her mind around any reason why Aaron chose to do what he did. _Why would he do such a thing? True she sided with the enemy, but she was not one of them. She was a prisoner, technically a non combatant and thus subject to be treated decently._ The lieutenant felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, knocking her out of her thoughts. Regarding what it was, she saw Raisa looking up at her with a worried expression on her face. “You really shouldn't drink all that much Hanna.” she warned. “Last I checked, you hardly touched your breakfast on the way here. Drinking on an empty stomach isn't good for you.”

Hanna shifted angrily and muttered under her breath, “I'll be fine Rai.” She took another huge gulp from her flask, tiny rivulets of alcohol running down her chin and falling to the sand. “How long has he been in there?” she asked without looking at the pilot officer.

Pottgen took a gander at her watch and recollected when they all barged in at once to keep Tatiana from escaping. “Ten minutes.” she answered, her body uncontrollably shuddering at the thought of being subjected to a death like that for that length of time. Looking over the hotel, she felt some sort of relief at the windows being all shuttered up. _Back in the early days, that meant you could be ambushed at any second. Now, I'm happy that they're shut. If we had to hear what was going on inside that place, Hanna would probably intervene and Christ knows what would've happened then._

“When gets out of there Rai, I'm putting my fucking foot down.” Marseilles seethed, finally putting her flask away. “That was no way to treat a prisoner.”

“I fully agree,” the pilot officer concurred, nodding all the while, “but there needs to be some tact here.”

“Tact for what?” the lieutenant retorted, staring at her friend like she'd just grow two heads. “Are you insane? There's nothing to consider here at all. He crossed a line and he's going to get punished severely for it.”

“I don't want what happened in Benghazi to happen here Hanna.” Raisa explained. “While yes those were different circumstances, your emotions got the best of you and it nearly got you killed.”

“Except they didn't.” Hanna countered. She pointed at the hotel door and added emphatically, “He may have gotten away with that, but he's not getting away from the consequences.”

Suddenly, the door of the hotel slowly creaked open, the hinges groaning from not being maintained for so long. Everyone looked towards the portal and out stepped Aaron, the face splattered with vitae, his cloak soaked in blood and gore, crimson drops falling on the wood and sand. In his right hand, the shotgun silently testified to the torment that he put the traitor through. The wooden butt was cracked in several places, the seams lined with slick moisture and the barrel was bent into the shape of one of Elizabeth's kukri knives. After two steps, Divale tossed the ruined weapon far off into the distance and ripped the robe off of him with a loud tear. He let the disguise drop and kicked it against the right hand wall of the building, the hit sending blood flying everywhere. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed his water canteen, opened it up, and dumped the entire contents on the top of his head, washing out the bits of brain, bone, and clotted blood from his scalp and face. Not one bit of remorse or regret could be found and it angered Hanna even more. _That's fucking it!_ Blitzing past Pottgen, she made a beeline towards the warlock who was now in the process of shaking his head violently from side to side like a wet dog. She caught up to him just as he put his canteen away and started to turn around to go back inside the hotel and she bellowed, “Lieutenant Divale! About face you bastard!” The warlock stopped moving and followed his superior's instructions, wheeling around and standing at attention. Marseilles continued to get closer and closer, getting to within a hairs width and inquired in a low voice, “What the fuck was that?”

Aaron's reply was immediate and lacking in all emotion. “Justice.”

“Justice?!” Hanna cried out, eyes wide with shock. “You call that justice lieutenant?! That wasn't justice whatsoever; that was nothing but cruel sadism on display! If it weren't for the circumstances, that would be murder and no lawyer in the world could argue around that! She didn't deserve what you did to her! You should've shot her instead!”

“Oh?” Divale replied, this time his voice gaining a hard edge to it. “The bitch didn't deserve it huh? Just shoot her and be done with it?” He shook his head side to side and continued, “Did Deveraux deserve getting blown to smithereens at Sirte lieutenant? Absolutely not, but her death at the very least was painless and quick. That much she deserved. Not so with that cunt. She didn't warrant the same courtesy that Juliette got. All traitors, no matter if they're on the wrong side or not, merit the worst.”

“You're wrong!” Marseilles blurted. “You're so wrong that I don't think you can see the right side of things anymore!” She stepped off to the side to allow Aaron a clear view of the rest of the assembled squadron. “Look at them lieutenant, take a good fucking look! Look what you've done to them! They can hardly look you in the face! Did you think of that while you beat her to a bloody pulp?!”

Divale gazed over his friends and saw that the German witch had a point. None of them looked happy with what was going on or with what occurred behind those closed doors. Even Amelie and Helga, the two people who had the most reason to feel satisfied that vengeance was taken, had their eyes locked down and away. The warlock blinked once and stated loud and clear, “I deeply apologize for how this event has affected you all. I understand fully why you can't bear to look upon me the way you had once before. While I did in fact factor in this exact same scenario into my calculations, I didn't take into account how it would make you feel and I'm sincerely sorry.” He paused for a split second and regarded Hanna. “But what I'm not sorry for, nor will ever apologize for, is why I did what I did and how. Nothing will convince me otherwise.”

The lieutenant's hands balled up into fists at hearing the gross disrespect being flung her way, Her face went purple with rage and it took Herculean control to prevent her from cocking her right arm back and bashing the warlock in the face. “I think you need a little time in your quarters to rethink that train of thought Lieutenant Divale. From this moment until I say otherwise, you're remanded to quarters indefinitely. No guard duty, no missions, no scouting patrols, nothing. Your meals will be brought up to you and a chamber pot will be provided. I don't want to see hide or hair of you unless you're off to take a shower, which I deeply suggest you do. Are we clear?” she ordered, ire barely in check.

“Absolutely clear Lieutenant Marseilles.” Aaron replied. “I shall return to quarters immediately.” He gave a salute which wasn't returned and turned around to go. Before disappearing beyond the threshold he uttered just loud enough for the witch to hear, “Ich könnte diese letzten drei Tage nutzen, um darüber nachzudenken, wohin ich gehen möchte (I could use these last three days to contemplate where I'd like to go).”

Unable to control herself any longer, Hanna took two lunging steps to the door, grabbed it with both hands, and slammed it shut so hard she nearly took off the door knocker. _And wherever you wind up being transferred to, don't expect a glowing review._ Pottgen observed this for but a moment and looked away. She didn't want Marseilles to see her her face, the look of sadness over knowing that soon the warlock will be gone, leaving them without a valuable piece on the chessboard. _And it's all her fault. If she didn't go at him like she did, if she just accepted that he never wanted intentionally upstage her at all, maybe he'd want to stay until the end. I know why you do this Hanna, but God damn it, why do you do this?!_ Suddenly, her ears picked up the sounds of an approaching vehicle. Everyone else heard it too and rushed to find cover, setting up a safe defense perimeter in case their unexpected visitors turned out hostile. Raisa rushed up the stair just as Hanna flung open the door, getting inside along with her. Hunkering down, the two witches brought their guns out and waited, listening to the sounds of the running engine getting closer. “Did we get anything about having visitors?” the pilot officer asked.

“Not at all.” the lieutenant replied. “It's coming from the direction we came here from so whoever is driving knows we're here. There aren't many who know that information.” Hanna took a peek around the threshold in time to see a lone transport truck rumble up the way, the tires kicking sand in all directions. The sun glare made it so that she couldn't see the driver, but she aimed for where one would sit out of instinct. In time, it came to a complete stop and the passenger side door opened wide. Slowly, a Striker clad leg came into view followed by the rest of Edytha Neumann's body, her face having the most queer look to it, as if she was trying to find something, but really not wanting to. Such a thing didn't bother Hanna and she got up and walked out the door. “Edytha!” she called out. “What are you doing here?”

The air commander regarded her subordinate and curtly stated with force, “Stay right where you are Lieutenant Marseilles.” The words compelled the confused witch to obey and, when she did, the driver's side opened up and the ramp came crashing down. Within moments, Neumann was joined by five Allied soldiers, their armbands and helmets clearly those of the military police. “By order of General Rommel, I hereby place you under arrest. Drop your weapon and surrender yourself immediately or else we will use force.” By now, the rest of the squadron had come out of cover and were watching what was happening with fear and utter bewilderment.

Out of all of them, none were more afraid than Raisa who inquired, “Edytha, what's going on here?”

Edytha's eyes traveled from Hanna to her and a look of remorse could be seen. “I'm sorry. I have no choice.” she answered.

*************************

Aaron laid down on the bed, lit cigarette in mouth, and placed his arms behind his head, staring up at the wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. Shortly after he dealt with Tatiana's would be assassin, he staked out the man's room for himself. It wasn't anything special, pretty bare bones really with a bed, dresser, nightstand, chair, and a full body mirror in the corner. What made him want it was the bed, one that was made of thick oak and reinforced with a metal underframe. The sheets were cool and crisp, but it did little to quell the fires of residual anger that dwelt just below the surface and in his mind. He took a drag and started rambling to himself out loud, “You just don't fucking get it Hanna. Even if I explained it using monosyllables, you'd still wouldn't have a clue. She was a collaborator, a traitor, and a murderer. What I did would've been no different if she were treated like any other prisoner. Bitch would've been sent to the firing squad within the hour regardless. All I did was hasten the process. Hell, if they were here right now, the MP's would probably thank me for doing such a trivial job for them. They've got enough shit on their shoulders with trying to make sure we don't have infiltrators. However, I still thank you lieutenant for giving me some peace and quiet for a change. Three days, three damn days and I can finally get out of this place and go somewhere where you don't have to deal with sand getting in your crotch and nagging superiors.” His ears then picked up footsteps coming up the stairs, the pace hard and frantic, as if they were running. Divale's brow furrowed and he sat up, flicking some of the ash over the side of the bed. As the noise got closer and closer, he started to groan internally. _My room is at the very end of the hall, the last door after you get past the last turn going to the right. This person is past that point, meaning that they're coming to see me. Too bad I don't want visitors._ As soon as he finished that thought, three knocks made themselves known. “Whoever it is, fuck off. I'm not in mood.” the warlock harshly stated, burrowing a hole in the door with his stare.

“Aaron,” the voice of Pottgen replied, the tone distorted by what was surely weeping, “please open the door.” Surprised, Divale quickly got up from the bed and turned the knob. He barely got the door open a fraction of an inch before Raisa barged on in, grabbing him around the waist tight and burying her face into his stomach, crying up a storm. “They took her.” she sobbed. “They took Hanna away. Didn't say anything. Just took her away.”

 _Hanna was taken?_ The warlock gently broke the stranglehold that the witch had with his hands and knelt down. The pilot officer's face was smeared with tears, the complexion all red. “Who is they Rai?” he queried, placing his hands on her heaving shoulders. “Who took Hanna?”

Pottgen opened her mouth to speak, but she broke down again and started crying anew. Aaron made a move to try again, but his ploy was stopped by another voice. “I can answer that for her.” His eyes darted up towards the door and he beheld Neumann, her body language and gaze making it apparent that something bad had happened. “It was the MP's. I led them here.”

Divale's shock at seeing the air commander at the hotel didn't even come close to the revelation which she imparted to him. _The military police? What the hell is going on?_ “Why did they take the lieutenant Edytha? She did nothing worth getting in trouble for.” he asked, his right arm leading the still weeping Pottgen off to the side.

“That's right!” Raisa blurted, sitting on the bed, drying her tears with the back of her sleeve. “Hanna has done nothing wrong!”

Neumann entered the room fully and closed the door behind her. “General Rommel thinks otherwise.” she explained, crossing her arms over her chest. “Some evidence has reached his desk concerning Lieutenant Marseilles.”

Aaron got up and sat down next to Pottgen. “I need the whole story from the very beginning Edytha.” he said, taking the smallest drag in existence.

“I got the message last night to report to HQ. Came right from Rommel himself. I get there and he ushers me into the tent without a single word of explanation until he closes the flap. He then gives me an apology for being so quiet, but something very important reached his desk. I look and I see this opened package, a packet of papers lying next to it. The general then explains to me that this arrived today and he'd spent the past few hours looking it over and cross referencing the contents with official combat records and reports. I ask him what it was and he urged me to look for myself.” Neumann illuminated. She paused, trying to find the words and continued, “I was shocked beyond all belief. All of it alleges that Lieutenant Marseilles disseminated military secrets and committed various acts of dereliction of duty.”

Divale's eyes bugged out. Dissemination _of military secrets and dereliction of duty?! No fucking way! The bitch might be guilty of a lot of things that make her look not so rosy in the mirror, but not those!_ “That absolutely cannot be.” he stated. “I was there for all this and I saw nothing of the sort.”

“Same here!” Pottgen shouted. “This has got to be some sort of mistake! He had to have read it wrong! There's no way!”

“I agree with both of you,” the air commander admitted, taking a few steps closer to them, “but the general gave an order and I had to obey.”

“So when's the trial? Does she have anyone that can defend her?” the warlock asked.

“The trial will be in three days in Oran. All three of the generals will act as judges. Lieutenant Marseilles has the right to a lawyer, but given the speed at which the front has advanced from all sides, the odds of one arriving within that time frame are remote. She might have to represent herself.” Edytha answered.

“That's unheard of!” Raisa pointed out. “All trials under military law must go through a certain series of inquests and channels! At best it should be two weeks from now, not three days!”

“Not unless they feel like they have an open shut case.” Aaron deduced. He placed his right hand underneath his chin, mulling over the information. _Trumped up charges out of nowhere, a speedy trial, the man accusing her on the bench, and no time to obtain effective legal representation. I don't like this. Feels way too much like a conspiracy._ “Where did that evidence come from?” he inquired.

“From what I could determine, it was a collection of all the press releases that Pilot Officer Pottgen had given them since the beginning.” Neumann replied.

The implicated witch sat bolt upright as if she'd just be stung by a bee. “I never wrote anything that put her in a bad light and I can prove it!” she declared. “I only gave them copies of the original!”

The revelation compelled Divale to press the issue. “Also, did the lieutenant have enemies from her past that wouldn't mind if she were to be executed?” he queried.

“Tons.” the air commander acknowledged. “She rubbed quite a few people the wrong way, some of which now sit in very lofty positions in the German War Ministry.” She regarded Aaron with a cocked eyebrow and asked, “Why?”

“To be bluntly honest with you both, I think Hanna is being targeted by something or someone that wants her dead.” the warlock replied. “Without a lawyer, she's going to have an uphill battle to prove that.”

“Not if you represented her.” Neumann suggested.

“What?! Me?!” Divale shot back in utter surprise. “I'm not a lawyer. I'm not even qualified. I've never been in a courtroom before in my life. Besides, isn't that a conflict of interest?”

“Not really.” Pottgen stated, thinking about it. “Under the articles of military justice, legal representation can come from within the affected unit, but not from a superior officer which that individual is serving under or the next in line for command. Hanna has said to me on multiple occasions that if something happened to her, that I would be in command of the 31st so that eliminates me.” She turned to Aaron and pleaded, “You have to do it Aaron. I know that you two don't like each other very much, but you know that she's innocent and you have good instincts.”

“Both of which don't mean jack sh-” the warlock started to retort, but Edytha interrupted him.

“We'll leave you alone to make a decision.” she informed. “Whatever you decide, we'll abide, but know this Lieutenant Divale: If you turn your back on Hanna in her hour of need, what will that say about you?” She stood there staring at him for a few seconds before beckoning Raisa to join her in leaving the room.

Aaron watched them go, the ash of the cigarette falling to the floor the exact moment that the door latched shut. Alone, he got up from the bed and paced, his boots clunking softly on the wooden floor boards. He went over what was said in his mind, occasionally taking a puff while at it. “This smells.” he murmured.

“Well of course it does.” a woman's voice pointed out. He turned and saw the glass of the full body mirror start to darken, wisps of back swirling in the center like the eye of a hurricane. Within moments, Ismenoth materialized and added, “However, what business is it of yours to get involved. You even admitted that it was out of your league. Don't do it. Just let justice take the reins and leave when the time comes.”

“Justice should be reserved for the guilty, not the innocent.” Divale retorted.

“Not in my court.” the demonness replied. “Far as I'm concerned the bitch is getting what she deserves.”

“She's not going to get it.” the warlock emphatically stated, looking the fiend in the eyes. “I'm going to represent her.” He went over to the mirror and added, “And you are going to help me.”

“Like hell I am.” Ismenoth countered, crossing her arms over her chest. “There's nothing you can do or say that will make me change my mind.”

Aaron cocked his eyebrow and reached forwards with his right hand. His fingers went through the pane and into her realm as easily as one might dip their hands in water. He touched her left cheek ever so gently and whispered, “Are you sure about that?”

The demonness' eyes flashed with excitement, the lewd thoughts running through her head making her giggle. “What would you have in mind?” she inquired, placing her left index finger to her lips.

Divale slowly moved his right hand down from Ismenoth's cheek, past her neck, and across her bosom, each finger tracing an intricate pattern over her yellow flesh. “If you agree to help me and we win, I'll let you have me for not just one, but two successive nights.” he offered.

The fiend gasped in pleasure as the warlock's hand moved past her nipples and navel, coming to rest just above her nether regions. “And what is this then?” she asked with a smile. “An advance?”

Aaron leaned in with a grin of his own. “What do you think?” he queried. “Do we have a deal?”

“Get in here and you'll have a lot more than that.” Ismenoth cooed. “Three times? You must must be pent up. Remove that uniform. We wouldn't want that to get dirty now would we?”

“Loving you is a dirty job bitch,” Divale admitted, unzipping his pants, “but I'm the man to do it.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Hanna's life on the line, Aaron executes the greatest defense of his life.

_ **Chapter XXII: The Trial** _

_Concepts by themselves have no meaning. Notions of good, evil, justice, ethics, and morals are all just ideas with no substance. The only way they gained some punch, some weight in the human psyche was when we gave them meaning. We needed to do that to not only protect ourselves from abuses of power, but also to educate us as to why we do what we do and how to better ourselves._

Diary Entry July 8th 1944

Fear was no stranger to Hanna. She lived alongside it for most of her life. Of course, those past meetings were usually very brief. There was always some way out of it, a silver lining that made the experience bearable. Sitting at the defense table next to Aaron waiting for the judges to reappear in the courtroom made seeing that line very difficult. Every so often, she would look over to the right hand wall at the heavy oak door that led to the judges chamber, expecting to open up at any minute. The courtroom in the city of Oran surprisingly remained intact through the fighting and was well ventilated and lit, the stone walls and high ceiling making it look appealing to juries and the press. However, there were no such things here. Military trials had no juries, just a panel of three judges. Majority vote decided guilt or innocence. As for the reporters, matters of military justice were kept confidential. Unless you were military personnel, you were barred from attending. Behind her, the gallery was taken up by the 31st, all of them just as nervous and afraid as she was. Edytha sat next to Raisa who looked like she would faint at the drop of a hat. Off to the side of them sat the stenographer, a wizened old crone on her last legs with hands so gnarled from carpal tunnel they looked like claws. Over across the way, standing at attention near the judges bench, were the two bailiffs, both MP's and motionless like statues. They were like that for most of the opening statements by the judges and the prosecution's presentation of the evidence that occurred three hours ago. It didn't take very long, but the grilling the prosecution gave was hard and relentless. The prosecutor, a thin man with slicked back hair and a condescending attitude, railed into her with the evidence, page after page, folder after folder. Marseilles did her best to remain calm, but that damned son of a bitch wouldn't let up. After his spiel, he up and left the courtroom without saying a word, content that he just slammed the book shut on the whole case. _Things probably would've gone better had my lawyer showed up on time._ The lieutenant glanced over at Divale, his body just as still as the bailiffs, and angrily asked, “Where the hell were you? You're my fucking lawyer and you don't show up for the preliminary hearing? What's with you?”

The warlock regarded her with a glare and answered, “It was intentional. I did it to lure him into thinking that he'd won. Without seeing anyone around to defend you, he would be cocky and depart thinking that it would be a simple judges leave, come back after fifteen minutes, and deliver a guilty verdict.” He smiled a tad and mentioned, “You should've seen his face when he saw me come in just as he left. He was so steamed I could've fried an egg on his head. Bastard tried to come back in, but once you leave the courtroom, you aren't admitted back in under any circumstances.”

Hanna took it all in and simply faced forward. _This isn't the time to play mind games. It's my life on the line, not yours._ “What is taking them so long? He only spoke for half an hour for Christ's sake.” she stated, frustration getting the better of her.

Without looking at her, Aaron replied, “When a figure such as yourself is on trial for her life, you need to take your time with stuff like this. You need a clear head to do the job of a judge.”

“Any clue how the odds look?” Hanna inquired.

“No idea Hanna.” Divale admitted, shaking his head. “All I can say is that I'll do my best.”

“If I get sent to the firing squad, don't you dare come to my funeral because my hands will choke you through the dirt.” Marseilles warned. Aaron was about to say something further, but the side door to the judges chamber opened up.

“All rise.” one of the MP's commanded. All obeyed and watched as the three judges, General's Montgomery, Patton, and Rommel emerged and took their places on the bench in that respective order.

“Be seated.” Erwin stated calmly as he got comfortable in his chair. As those in attendance did so, he noticed Aaron among the crowd. “Ah, Lieutenant Divale,” he casually commented, “I see that you've managed to find the courthouse. What kept you?”

“Traffic.” Divale answered with a slight grin. “I was quite hard moving around with all the evidence that I had to carry.” Then he waved his right hand over the table and two suitcases materialized out of nowhere.

General Montgomery cleared his throat and leaned forwards. “While such demonstrations of your magical abilities are greatly appreciated on the battlefield, they are not very welcome in a courtroom. I'm sure the defendant would like to be represented by a lawyer, not a sleight of hand expert.” he pointed out.

“My deepest apologies your honor.” the warlock offered. “It will not happen again.”

“If you are ready young man, you may proceed with your rebuttal.” Patton instructed. “However, just because you managed to outwit the prosecutor out of raising objections, please don't think we're slouches in that department.”

“Never in a million years.” Aaron replied. He got up from his chair and asked, “If I may your honors, may I make a quick statement to the court?”

“Proceed.” Rommel answered.

Divale nodded in thanks and positioned himself off to the side so that all could see him clearly. “I wish to admit to all present that I have never set foot inside a courtroom in any capacity other than a weary soldier in need of shelter for the night. In as much as I'm a stranger to the justice system, I'm not so foreign in matters of coming to the defense of your fellow soldiers when called upon. It is no secret that me and the lieutenant seated before you have butted heads on numerous occasions. Many thought that I would simply turn my back on her, leave her to her fate. However, if I were to do that, I would do the same to my oath, the very same one that we all took once upon a time to do all to serve the Allies faithfully and dutifully. I do not break promises, especially those coming from friends in need. Today I will demonstrate beyond any doubt that Lieutenant Marseilles is not only innocent of all charges, but a victim of a grand conspiracy meant in no small part to slander her name, to tarnish her legacy, and threaten her very life. Thank you.” he stated. Some hushed whispers between the judges and several members of the gallery occurred upon him mentioning the word conspiracy, but he paid them no mind as he walked back to the defense table and reached for one of the suitcases. “With your permission your honors I would like to proceed with the calling of witnesses to dispute the evidence and to present my case.” he remarked after opening it.

“That you may.” Rommel responded.

The warlock took some papers and folders out of the suitcase and closed the latches. “I would like to call Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen to the stand.” he declared. Pottgen got up from her seat in the gallery and started moving towards the witness stand. Once she got there and was seated, one of the MP's whipped out a small bible, holding it out to her.

“Place your right hand on the bible and raise your left.” he politely demanded. Raisa did so and he then asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God?”

“I do.” the witch answered, casting her eyes on her friend.

Satisfied, the MP then took the bible and went back to his original position. “The court recognizes the witness.” Montgomery called out. Regarding Aaron he added, “You may proceed.”

The warlock took a few steps forwards and to the right, placing his right hand on the witness stand when he was close enough. “Pilot Officer Pottgen, do you recall the day you were given the responsibility of chronicling the exploits of the 31st?”

“Yes I do.” Raisa answered. “It was the day after the battle of Alexandria, right when the replacements for us arrived along with reinforcements for the army as a whole.”

“So that would make the date in question the twenty third of April?”

“Correct.”

“Who gave you that responsibility?”

“General Rommel did.”

“Do you recollect why?”

“Our former photographer and chronicler, a Walter Cronkite, suffered an acute case of shell shock and had to be sent back to the United States for rehabilitation. With no other presence of creativity in the unit, I was the next obvious choice for the job.”

“Pretty bold assumption. Why would you think that?”

“No one else had easier access to Lieutenant Marseilles on a day to day basis nor knew her as well as I. That, and my skills at painting demonstrated an eye for detail, one that I'm sure the honorable General Rommel could've plainly saw.”

“So you're an artist?”

“Yes I am.”

“Do your skills run just into painting and photography?”

“No, I'm also a calligrapher.”

Aaron then opened a folder and held up a piece of paper. “I wish to present Exhibit A to the court. This is a practice paper which contains examples of Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen's handwriting.” He handed it over to the witch and asked, “Is this your writing?”

The German looked over the paper very carefully and nodded. “Yes it is.”

Divale then handed the paper to one of the bailiffs who then took it up to the judges. “I have to say that you have a great talent for it.” he acknowledged. “I would even go as far to say that it appears that you write like this without even trying. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

“In my view you would. I was taught how to write like this by my mother when I was a child.”

“So you write like this normally?”

“Yes.”

“In all matters of correspondence? Both personal and professional?”

“Yes.”

“So with that said, you wrote like that when you composed the chronicles of the 31st for press release?”

“Yes.”

Divale opened the same folder and took out two sheets of paper. “I wish to present Exhibits B and C with the former being the original page of describing what occurred at the Battle of Alexandria from the evidence packet that was received by General Rommel on the fifth of July and the latter being an original copy made by Pilot Officer Pottgen's hand the night of the twenty third of April.” he explained. The warlock held up the latter and asked, “Is this your handwriting?”

Raisa leaned forwards and replied, “Yes. It most certainly is.”

“And what about this one?” Aaron inquired, presenting the other to Pottgen. The moment she saw the paper, her face went white as a sheet. “Is this your writing too?”

“T-T-That's impossible!” she blurted out.

“That does not answer the man's question pilot officer.” Patton observed. “Please answer his question.”

“It is my writing, but I never wrote those words!” Pottgen cried out. Montgomery immediately grabbed the nearby gavel and slammed it.

“Order!” the British general demanded, his voice quieting the witness.

Divale furrowed his brow and looked at both sheets of paper. “So let me see if I understand where we are now.” he began calmly. “You say that both these pages are in your writing, but you deny writing certain words. Which words do you take umbrage to?”

Raisa pointed her right index finger at the page that came from the evidence packet and announced, “Those from the evidence that was given to General Rommel.”

“Can you please be more specific?”

“The latter half of the first sentence and the beginning of the second sentence of the second paragraph.”

Aaron turned the record over and cleared his throat before reading the words out loud. “Lieutenant Marseilles then called for a runner since all comm traffic was overwhelmed and said to him to divert forces from the main line to the left. Though she saw nothing to indicate an imminent threat to the said flank, she ordered it regardless.” He then regarded the witch and asked, “These are the sections you're referring to to are they not?”

“Yes they are.”

Divale then read aloud the same sentences on the other paper. “ Lieutenant Marseilles then called for a runner since all comm traffic was overwhelmed and said to him to divert forces from the reserves to the left. She believed in Master Sergeant Divale's tactical assessment, and, though she saw nothing to indicate an imminent threat to the said flank, she ordered it regardless.” He looked up at the judges and remarked, “It seems that we are in a bit of confusion. These records have been written by the pilot officer's hand, but they seem to greatly contradict one another.”

General Rommel looked over at Pottgen and queried, “Are you absolutely certain you are remembering what you wrote?”

The witch grew incensed and it showed on her face but for a moment before tamping it down. “I am certain I'm recalling this correctly.”

“And I for one believe her totally.” Aaron affirmed. “Plus, I can prove conclusively if these words are in fact hers with but a simple test.” He then gestured for the bailiffs to take the documents to the judges. They did so and he turned right around to defense bench. “What manner of ink did you use to write your correspondence with?”

“Squid ink.” Raisa replied as Divale rummaged around in his suitcase. “It's expensive, but it lasts longer than synthetic and writes cleaner. It's the only stuff I ever use.”

“Objection.” Rommel called from the bench. “With due respect Lieutenant Divale, what does the type of ink have to do with your argument?”

The warlock then faced the judges, holding a paintbrush in his right hand and a small clear vial in the other filled with a vibrant pink liquid. “What I have in my left hand is a solution of potassium permanganate that I made last night. It's used in histology as a bleaching agent, or, in other words, to clear up certain organic compounds in mixed samples. In particular, it's highly effective on melanin, which is present in natural squid ink in high quantities. If I were to dip this brush into the solution and run it across both pages at those certain sentences in question and the letters all fade, then it was indeed her writing.” he illuminated. “With your permission your honor, I would like to do just that.”

Rommel's moved from the vial back to Aaron and he slowly shifted in his seat. “Objection retracted. You may continue.” he stated.

“Thank you your honor.” Aaron replied. He then regarded the bailiffs and asked, “May I please have Exhibits B and C please?” They did so without a single word, taking the papers from the judges bench and handing them over to the warlock. He took them, approached the witness stand, and laid them flat in front of Raisa. Once that was done, he opened the vial and dipped the paintbrush into the pink solution. After swishing it around for a few seconds, he placed it on the pages at the sentences in question and ran through the letters with one swift stroke four times to make sure that he didn't underapply. “The potassium permanganate soultion should take fifteen seconds to take effect.” Divale informed, taking the papers in his hand and holding them close to his chest. All in the courtroom waited patiently as the seconds ticked down. Pottgen looked over at Aaron who didn't even return the gesture, his eyes instead looking up at the ceiling as if he were asking God to help him. Soon, the fifteen seconds were up and he looked down at the pages. After a quick gander at them, he came back to the witness stand and stated, “In my right hand, I hold the record from the twenty third of April and in the left I have the record from the evidence packet received the fifth of July.” The warlock turned over the page in his right hand and panned his hand all around so that all could see. On the paper, the letters all had a clearly visible space missing in the center. “As you can all plainly see, the record of the twenty third of April has been affected, therefore meaning that this writing was in squid ink and written by Pilot Officer Pottgen's hand.” he announced. Then, he did the same thing with the other piece of evidence and the entire courtroom gasped. Marseilles' eyes brightened with hope as her blue eyes saw that only some of the letters had a line through them while the rest did not. “The words which have not been affected from the record from the evidence packet correspond with the sections that Pilot Officer Pottgen denies writing while the rest have been affected. She did state under oath that she used only squid ink. Now, ladies and gentlemen of the court, how is it that those words still show up after having a solution of potassium permanganate applied in a straight line through them? Even if the witness had run out of squid ink and was forced to use synthetic ink, why would she start writing with it and all of a sudden switch back to the squid ink?” Aaron inquired. He then regarded the judges and stated, “I would like to have this evidence excluded from the final verdict on grounds of it clearly being tampered with by an outside entity and thoroughly subjected to chemical analysis.”

“There is still the matter of the allegation of dissemination of military secrets.” Montgomery quipped from the judges bench. “There is among the the evidence received on the fifth of July a field report by a one Private Freemantle, an enlisted soldier from the original MP garrison at Alexandria, that was submitted before the battle there. While regrettably perishing in the struggle that followed, his words still remain and they state clearly that he witnessed a one Pilot Officer Pottgen carrying a sheaf of papers out in the open and handed a single page over to you Lieutenant Divale containing some sort of military intelligence. Are you familiar with the matter in which I speak of?”

“Indeed I am your honor and I have evidence that can clear up that as well with a record of that event having been written at the same time that was.” Aaron affirmed. He went back to his suitcase after giving the bailiffs back the two pieces of evidence and pulled out his diary. “I wish to present Exhibit D to the court. This here ladies and gentlemen is my diary. It has been with me since Christmas Day of 1939 and survived all manners of horrors and trials. I made sure to magically preserve it by binding it with my very soul. As long as I shall live, this record of my life and my service will endure. In addition, the aetheric energies prevent it from being altered in anyway and allow it to record everything that I said, did, and thought as events happened.” Divale then opened the diary to the newest page and panned back and forth so that all in the courtroom could see words appearing on the page out of nowhere. “As you can see, it's even doing it right now without any effort from my part.” Then the warlock flipped the through the pages backwards and gestured to one of the bailiffs. “Please deliver this to the honorable judges as is.” he instructed. As the man did so, Aaron regarded Raisa. “Pilot Officer Pottgen, do you recall that incident in question, that of the morning of the twenty third of April?”

“I do.” the witch answered. “Lieutenant Marseilles, you, and I were walking towards the 31st barracks after we finally managed to locate you.”

“And what route do you recall us taking?”

“Straight through the marketplace and then taking a left turn towards the final straightaway to the 31st barracks.”

“Were there people around other than soldiers?”

“Yes. It was very busy in the markets. I think there were upwards of sixty people going about their business.”

Aaron looked over at General Montgomery and inquired, “Where in that throng did Private Freemantle witness this?”

“He wasn't among the crowd.” the Brit answered. “Private Freemantle was in fact atop one of the small dwellings.”

“Where exactly was he?”

“From the record, he was the last house on the left side of the street where the marketplace was located just before the left turn that Pilot Officer Pottgen mentioned.”

“Now, that particular street runs north to south am I correct?”

“That you are.”

“How far up and away was Private Freemantle?”

“Forty feet away and fifteen upwards.”

“Thank you your honor.” Divale then turned his attention back to Raisa. “From what I recall, it was very early in the morning on the date of the twenty third of April. Around quarter after six I would imagine. Would I be correct in assuming that?”

“Yes, I would assume the same.” Pottgen replied.

“Was the sun overhead on our way there, starting from the marketplace?”

“Quite. The glare hurt my eyes.”

“And from what direction did that sun glare come from?”

“The left.”

The warlock then returned his attention to Montgomery. “Would it be permissible if Pilot Officer Pottgen and I conduct a demonstration of how we were proceeding down that street?”

The general glanced at his colleagues who all nodded in silent agreement. “Proceed.” he stated.

Aaron bade Raisa with a simple crooking of his right finger. “Do you remember how we proceeded to the barracks?” he asked.

“I was off to the left of you.” Pottgen answered.

“Meaning that I was to your right?”

“Yes.”

“And how far away from me were you?”

“Maybe a few inches.”

“So well within arms reach to adequately receive a document if one were handed to me am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Show me and the court please.” The whole courtroom watched as the witch and warlock recreated the scene with Raisa off to the left and the towering figure of Aaron beside her, their backs to the judges chambers, looking straight forwards at the opposite wall. “Could you also demonstrate to the court how you held these military secrets in question?” The witch thought about it and moved her left hand slightly up, shifting the fingers as if she were taking a packet of papers along the right edge, holding the imaginary documents angled towards the right. Aaron looked up at the judges who were watching both the players and the script from his diary. “Is everything correct as it was written down?” he queried.

“To the letter.” Patton replied, clearly impressed with the attention to detail.

“Do you recollect the pace at which we traveled?” Aaron asked as he gazed back down at Raisa.

“Double quick.” Pottgen responded. “We wanted to get you up to date as soon as possible.”

“Let's get a ways back over there and show the court. When I give the word, act like you're handing me a piece of paper. Understand?” Raisa nodded and the pair moved as close to the wall nearest the judges chambers and executed the double quick pace. Aaron's long strides made it difficult for the witch to match and she practically had to jog to keep pace. They made it just beyond the witness stand before Divale snapped his fingers loudly, the sounds his right thumb and middle finger made reverberating throughout the room. Knowing that was the signal, Pottgen casually handed over the imaginary paper. Playing his role perfectly, the warlock then took the invisible page, skimmed it over quick, and mimicked shoving it into the front of his pants. All this was done as they were walking and the entire thing lasted less than five seconds. “And stop.” Aaron commanded. Pottgen stopped on a dime. “This would be where we took the turn am I correct?”

“Yes, for I do remember it not being very long after I gave you the paper.”

“Do you remember what paper you gave me?”

“It was the frequencies to all major personnel within the 31st plus auxiliary.”

“Thank you. You may return to the witness stand.” Divale didn't watch her go and instead went over to the defense bench. After rummaging around in the suitcase once again, he pulled out a heavily crinkled piece of paper, parts of the middle and upper left torn and stained. “I wish to present Exhibit E to the court. This here is the paper in question. As an aside, I do greatly apologize for the condition of this piece of evidence for I did not remove it from the front of my trousers when the Battle of Alexandria was fought.”

“So you mean that you had that paper in your pants for the greater part of four hours?” Rommel inquired.

“I did indeed your honor. However, I did remove it upon being dismissed by Lieutenant Marseilles to care for the wounded.” the warlock admitted.

The German general took a quick glace at the diary pages alluding to that event. Upon seeing that the words matched the actions, he nodded. “Continue.” he stated.

“Despite the condition of the evidence, the frequencies and to whom they belong to are still clearly visible and unmarred by the damage done to the rest of the record.” Aaron explained. “All the print is in the middle and written in perhaps the smallest type I've seen.” He gestured to the bailiffs to have one of them bring the paper up to the judges. The looks on both men's faces made it pretty clear that they were less than enthused in touching the thing, but one of them, obviously the bravest, ventured forwards and took the page out of his hand with two fingers on the furthest edge. After he gave it over to the judges to look over, he remarked, “Considering that Private Freemantle was forty feet away, fifteen feet up, and dealt with a sun glare, I'd find it very strange that he could see what was going on.”

“I as well.” Rommel agreed, looking over the evidence. “The sun glare would blur any words.”

“Not if he used binoculars.” Patton pointed out. He regarded Montgomery and asked, “Was there any mention of Private Freemantle using them in his report?”

“There was none,” Montgomery answered, “however, I do believe he would've had the common sense to use them. MP's don't rely on guesswork nor make inferences. If he did indeed see this alleged incident play out, he had to have seen it.”

“I do believe your honor that there is something we can do to test that theory.” Aaron countered.

“What would that be?” the British general inquired.

“If I may your honor, I would like to use my magic to position a member of the gallery with the best eyesight exactly the same distance that Private Freemantle was from this alleged incident and run through the same pace me and the witness demonstrated earlier. Obviously, there would be no glare, so that might affect things, but I'm confident that the outcome will be favorable.” Divale ventured. The three judges looked at each other and huddled close together, deliberating amongst themselves in hushed voices. Despite their attempts to be secretive, the stenographer's hands still typed away, her old ears somehow hearing every word. After a few seconds of this, they went back to their original poses and Montgomery nodded, silently giving his assent. The warlock then turned around and queried the members of the 31st, “So who's got good eyes?”

At first, nothing happened at all. Not a single person flinched or volunteered a name. Suddenly, as if they couldn't bear the inaction anymore, well over half the squadron pointed at Amelie, who looked at everyone like she was an innocent person just singled out of a police lineup. “Oh no.” she quipped, shaking her head from side to side.

“It's not as if we're miles above the ground.” Aaron retorted politely. “You can handle forty feet. You'll be safe and I promise no funny business.”

The reluctant French witch mulled it over and sighed. “Okay, I'll do it.”

Divale them pointed his right hand at Planchard and intoned, “Capio Amelie.” The second he said those words, the sergeant went rigid and rose up into the air, her body moving backwards almost all the way against the front of the room and her head nearly grazing the ceiling. “That there ladies and gentleman is exactly forty feet away and fifteen feet up. I wish to make it clear for the record that, under normal circumstances, this spell would prevent anyone from moving. However, I have modified it so that she can move her upper body. Would you mind doing so Sergeant Planchard?” Amelie waved her arms side to side. Satisfied that he made his point, the warlock gestured for Raisa to get back up from the witness stand and recreate the walk they did earlier. He walked over to join her and added, looking over his left shoulder at Planchard, “The moment you see us begin to walk, get your binoculars out and observe us, paying close attention to the paper.” Knowing that he would need the evidence for the demonstration, General Patton took the paper and handed it to one of the bailiffs who then gave it to Pottgen. Aaron waited as the pilot officer positioned the page exactly how she said she did and declared, “Commencing walk in 3, 2, 1.” At the end of the countdown, the pair walked forwards, Amelie whipping out her binoculars and training them right at where the lieutenant indicated. All in the courtroom hushed, the silence broken only by the sounds of boots hitting the floor. Aaron and Raisa executed the walk perfectly, the warlock snapping his fingers at the same time he did before, gazing at the paper, and tucking it into his pants. “And stop.” he commanded. Regarding Planchard, he asked in a slightly higher voice, “Could you make out what was written on the paper before I put it away?”

The judges all looked at the suspended witch who put her binoculars back where she got them and shook her head in the negative. “I couldn't see anything on that paper. There was too much movement and the angle was too steep to get a good look.” she replied.

Montgomery leaned back in his chair and placed his right hand under his chin, his mind pondering over what he'd just seen. Patton harrumphed and stated, “It may not be my favorite food in the world, but it would seem that the evidence against Lieutenant Marseilles is holier than a block of swiss cheese.”

“Quite.” Rommel concurred, looking over at the still brooding Brit. “What do you think Monty?”

The general took his hand away from his chin and nodded. “The demonstrations have clearly cast more than a shadow of doubt on the prosecution's evidence.” he admitted.

Rommel gazed at those assembled in the courtroom and announced, “Since we are in agreement, this panel declares all the evidence against Lieutenant Marseilles inadmissible and will not factor in the final judgment of this court.” Hanna rose up from her seat and pumped her fists into the air our of sheer joy. Her elation was short lived as the German general grabbed the gavel and slammed it down. “Order. Please return to your seat Lieutenant Marseilles. These proceedings are not yet over.” he sternly stated. The witch complied and Erwin glanced over at Aaron. “Do you have any further questions from the witness?”

“No your honor.” Divale replied, remembering that Amelie was still in the air. He then set her back down gently in the gallery with a wave of his left hand and removed the paper from his trousers once more. One of the bailiffs came up and retrieved the evidence, giving it to the judges.

“You may be dismissed Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen.” Rommel stated. Raisa saluted and when it was returned in kind, turned and walked back to her seat next to Edytha. “With that stage of this trial out of the way, I, as well as the rest of us, would like to see how you're to show that there is some conspiracy against Lieutenant Marseilles. How will go about that?” he inquired.

“I will go about this by the calling of three witnesses.” Aaron answered. “The first will establish the notion that, contrary to any opinion others in this court might have of Lieutenant Marseilles 'mental stability, she has been not only misdiagnosed in order to facilitate her transfer to the North African front, but neglected adequate treatment and therapy in order to fully reach her potential, which has caused her and others undue pain and suffering.” He was about to say something more when a sharp 'pah' could be heard coming from Hanna's mouth, drawing a mean glare from the warlock. “As for the last two witnesses,” he continued, his eyes never wavering from Marseilles, “they will establish the conspirator's motives as well reveal their identities. To that end, I wish to call Lieutenant Hanna-Justina Marseilles to the stand.” The lieutenant stood up from her chair, not even pushing it in, and walked towards the witness stand, burning a hole through her appointed lawyer. Aaron took his eyes off her when she passed him, rolling his tongue in his mouth as feelings of annoyance began to rage within him. _Don't you start with me lieutenant. You know what happens._

The witch sat down, ignoring totally the protocol which drew anxious glances from the gallery and stern stares from the judges. _I don't care. I'm beyond angry. Not mentally competent? How dare he! There's nothing wrong with me at all!_ “Place your right hand on the bible and raise your left.” the MP from that swore in Raisa commanded. Hanna did so, rolling her eyes all the while, and he then asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God?”

“I do.” Marseilles answered without emotion.

Patton looked over at the Lieutenant Divale briefly as the bailiff walked away and joined his companion. Ever since his witness passed him, he didn't so much as turn around. _What is going on? A rift perhaps? Some sort of misunderstanding?_ “The court recognizes the witness.” the American general called out. “You may proceed.”

At those last three words, Aaron twirled around gracefully and regarded the judges. “Thank you your honor. If I may, can I please approach the witness? There seems to me a bit of a misunderstanding going on and I would like to clear it up.” he asked.

“By all means.” Rommel stated, clearly relieved that he was doing something to calm the lieutenant down.

A smile drew itself on the warlock's face as he advanced with measured steps. Hanna looked at him for a mere second and crossed her arms over her chest, looking off to the right. Once he got close enough, he inquired, “Parlez-vous Français lieutenant Marseille (Do you speak French Lieutenant Marseilles)?”

That made her turn her head and gaze at him curiously. “Oui. Pourquoi (Yes. Why)?” she queried.

The smile evaporated like dew in summer sun and Divale leaned in. “Parce que je ne veux pas qu’ils sachent encore ce que je dis (Because I don't want them to know what I'm saying just yet).” he whispered. Marseilles grew instantly suspicious, but she leaned closer to him anyways. “Maîtrisez l’attitude. Ça n’aide pas votre affaire. Je fais ça pour te défendre, pas pour t’attaquer (Get the fucking attitude under control. It's not helping your case whatsoever. I'm doing this to defend you, not attack you damn it).” he seethed in a low voice.

“C’est difficile à dire avec toi parfois (It's hard to tell with you sometimes).” Hanna countered. “Avec moi, vous faites les deux dans la même mesure (With me, you do both in equal measure).”

“C’est peut-être le ca, mais tu dois me faire confiance. Ta vie est entre mes mains et la seule façon pour moi de la sauver est de prouver aux juges que cette conspiration existe en fait. Sauf si vous aimez l’idée d’être criblé de balles ou votre cou tendu, s’il vous plaît pour l’amour de Dieu aidez-moi à vous aider. Bien (That may be, but you have to trust me. Your life is in my hands and the only way for me to save it is to prove to the judges that this conspiracy in fact exists. Unless you like the thought of getting riddled with bullets or your neck stretched out, please for the love of God help me help you. Alright)?” the warlock pleaded. Marseilles looked past his face and stared at Pottgen who returned the look with one of her own, one that was fraught with uncertainty and fear. It mollified her temper and the lieutenant nodded. Sighing with relief, Aaron looked to the judges. “The matter has been cleared. I will now commence with the questioning.” He then turned around and went back to the defense table and the suitcase full of evidence. “As an aside to the court, I wish to make clear that as Lieutenant Marseilles' lawyer, my right of discovery allows me to travel abroad in the pursuit of any evidence that pertains to this case. Due to present circumstances, my departure had to be noted and agreed upon by all three of the honorable judges presiding over this case. Much of what I have uncovered comes from the German War Ministry which currently operates in Bristol, England. I also wish to make known that I'm deeply indebted to the secretaries who helped me locate the records and provided me with copies translated from the original German into English for ease of your reading.” he explained as he rummaged through his suitcase. After another second of this, he pulled out a single thick folder. “I wish to present Exhibit F to the court. This folder contains an itemized list of all of Lieutenant Marseilles accomplishments in chronological order from her time in training at the Berlin Flight Instruction School all the way to now.” Without needing to be commanded, one of the bailiffs came forward and took the evidence. However, before he could walk to the judges, Divale lightly tapped him on the shoulder and commented, “You might want to stay put for a while my friend. There's more where that came from.” He then regarded Hanna and stated, “I'm not going to lie when I say that upon looking at all that you have done, I grew a bit jealous. You have done much to be proud of. Any air commander would be delighted to have a full squadron of pilots like you.”

“Thank you.” Marseilles replied, the fainest of grins on her face.

Divale then extended his right index finger and wagged it back and forth. “However,” he continued, returning to the suitcase, “as they say, no good deed ever goes unpunished.” Two seconds later, he pulled out another folder that dwarfed the previous one by a wide margin. If one had to compare the two it would be like putting a dinner menu next to a phone book. “I wish to present Exhibit G to the court. This folder, or tome I should say, contains an itemized list of every infraction and demerit on Lieutenant Marseilles' record in chronological order from the previously stated time frame.” he explained. The MP standing by the defense table looked upon the stack with trepidation as the warlock gently lifted up the whole thing and placed it down into his hands, the weight visibly taxing the bailiff's arms. Not wasting any time, the man beat a hasty retreat to the judges bench and his comrade quickly came over to help him lift the heavy load onto it. Looking back at the German witch, who was far from comfortable seeing her past misdeeds eclipsing her good deeds, he remarked, “I'm also not going to lie when I say that upon looking through those records that the word shocked wouldn't do my reaction justice. If you combined all of my infractions and that of a certain Canadian pilot in attendance today, you would make the both of us look like saints.”

“In some ways perhaps, but in reality, never.” Hanna replied without emotion, the grin long gone.

“Very early on, I found a distinct pattern in regards to your misconduct. A vast majority concern various disagreements between you, your then instructors, your then commanding officers, and fellow witches. They were as follows: Violation of military orders, disregard for military regulations, and numerous altercations both verbal and physical that required your confinement and grounding. I will admit that I'm not a certified psychologist, but I do recognize a lack of respect for authority when I see it. Would you agree with my assessment?”

“To a small degree.”

“Explain.”

“My instructors at the Berlin Flight Instruction School were positively behind the times when it came to modern warfare. Almost all of them were veterans of The Great War and it had jaded their minds into thinking that this war with the Neuroi would follow along the same lines. They were all foolish to believe that. The Neuroi aren't human and thus are above human understanding. Changes in tactics had to come about in order for us to do our duty effectively and they squandered it with outdated asinine training regimens.”

“Your country wasn't exactly in a position to do much in terms of updating. Under the terms of the Treaty of Versailles, Germany was made to pay reparations, cede territory, and had to disarm and largely mothball their army, navy, and air forces. What also must be taken into account was that the world simply took a giant step back in terms of military preparedness. America withdrew across the ocean and became isolationist, Russia fell into revolution, France built their walls, and the British merely adopted an overwatch position over the continent. Ten years later, The Great Depression hits and, though it occurred in the United States first, it flew over the Atlantic and swept away any sort of gain that you allege could have have been possible.”

“Just because one gets their money, land, and ability to defend himself taken away, doesn't mean that it shocks the mind into inactivity. I and every German in this room knows full well how bitter we became after our defeat. Believe me when I say that we plotted, planned, schemed, and conspired to one day take back what was stolen from us.”

Rommel reached for the gavel and slammed it down hard. “Objection! The witness has no evidence to support that claim. Stenographer, please redact that statement from the official court record.” he firmly stated. He then leaned forward in his chair and looked down at Hanna from the bench. “Another outburst of that nature and I'll have you censored and made to stand outside the courtroom for the remainder of the trial. Do I make myself clear Lieutenant Marseilles?” The witch nodded and breathed deep, doing her best to calm down. His point made, the general then gazed at Aaron and gestured for him to continue.

“Would you lump the esteemed General Rommel with those quote foolish flight instructors?” Divale asked.

“Every rule has an exception. The general is a fine example of that. Without his leadership, we wouldn't have gotten into a position to strike back at the enemy.” Hanna replied.

“Are you saying that because you're being honest or because the said General Rommel is within earshot?”

“I'm under oath am I not? I'm required to tell the truth and I'm doing so now.”

 _Well that's a fucking lie._ “What was your opinion of your commanding officers back at the Berlin Flight Instruction School?”

“Mouthpieces of the instructors. Every last one of them. Moreover, they had their favorites among the class and they got elevated to positions where they had no business coming within sniffing range.”

“Positions that I take it you wanted for yourself?”

“Yes. I won't deny it. I was the most qualified out of all of them for one simple reason.”

“And what was that reason?”

“I was shooting for a goal. In front of me was the coveted top student position and I was determined to get it. I worked my ass off for it every day and night. There was not a single minute that I wasted in trying to achieve my purpose, my reward. All of them saw it. The smart ones stayed down or got out of my way. Those that didn't learned firsthand what happens when you come between me and what I want. They threw every sort of obstacle in my way to try to stop me, to give up, but I never relented. Despite all their efforts, I got that position. And I didn't stop there. At the school, on the Eastern Front, here in North Africa, I continued to push forward. To better myself, to get more out of my military career.”

“And to achieve victory over the Neuroi as well?”

“Obviously. That should go without saying.”

 _Of course you'd want that to go without saying. The number of photoshoots you did when you got here beggars belief, and that's not including how much compensation you received for all that either._ “How long did you hold that position of top student?”

“Not long enough. It was stolen from me.”

“Stolen you say? How?”

“One of the students, a then Pilot Officer Erica Hartmann, showed up from Bayern around two months before we were scheduled to complete our training and impressed many of the instructors and commanding officers.”

“Which would put this incident around early to mid 1940 am I correct?”

“Yes. Though her skills as a pilot were comparable to my own, her grades and work ethic were terrible. At the time, I saw her as no threat, that was until she started to worm her way into the hearts and minds of the personnel there. With having little to no allies to speak of within the school, I had no one to turn to when the decision came down to strip me of my top student position and award it to Pilot Officer Hartmann.”

“And why was it that you had no allies there Lieutenant Marseilles?”

“They were all dead set against me from the very beginning due to me constantly berating them for their shortsightedness and backwards training.”

“Was there any explanation as to why this was done?”

“None at all. It was the worst day of my training.”

“It couldn't have been that bad. Two months later, you graduated and were transferred to the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel who were based along the front lines in the east at the time along with Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen. Less than two days after that, in your first dogfight you successfully brought down your first Neuroi. It seems to me that your setback did very little to affect your skills as a pilot am I correct?”

“Yes, it did not, but the favoritism didn't end. My commanding officer, then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn became very close friends with then Pilot Officer Erica Hartmann and she was treated with much more respect than me, even though I was much more organized on the ground as well as in the air.”

“And how did this make you feel?”

“Like I had to do something to prevent what happened at the Berlin Flight Instruction School from happening within the squadron. I pushed myself everyday to show them all that I could do it better than anyone else. My shot down counts increased accordingly.”

“As did the number of times you were cited for general misconduct, so much so that your then commanding officer Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn stated in one of those documents within Exhibit G and I quote 'A subordinate that can't be trusted'. Would you agree with that determination.”

“Not at all. I could tell deep down that she was jealous of me and my abilities and thus would do and say anything to slander me.”

“Up to and including your eventual transfer to the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I that was based in North Africa along with Pilot Officer Pottgen?”

“Yes. There's no doubt in my mind that she wanted to get rid of me so that she and her precious friend could run the show all by themselves.”

“Are you sure that there was no other reason besides that?”

“Absolutely.”

Aaron then went back to his suitcase and pulled out a small folder. “Before I submit this to the court, I wish to make known for the record that as part of the standard medical protocols put in place, a mandatory psychological screening is required as part of ones standard enlistment by a certified psychologist that has been vetted by the military. For most enlisted men and women, these are relatively simple to do. For witches however, the process is much more strenuous as they are after all the primary means we have of effectively dealing with the Neuroi. I wish to present Exhibit H to the court. This is a copy of Lieutenant Marseilles' first session with a Doctor Wassermann at the Berlin Flight Instruction School who, at the time of the writing of the original, was the most preeminent witch psychologist in all of Germany if not all of Europe. Also included are various followup sessions dated from her formal matriculation at the Berlin Flight Instruction School all the way to her eventual transfer to the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel and the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I.” A bailiff walked over and collected the evidence in stride with Divale who walked back up to the witness stand. “What do you recall of Doctor Wassermann?”

“He was a tall, thin, older gentlemen with a small mustache that looked more like a caterpillar than facial hair. Had a penchant for asking questions that set me off which really made our sessions an exercise in futility.”

“What sort of questions in particular?”

“I'd rather not say. It's personal.”

“I understand. I will now recite the final findings of that first session from memory. 'The patient is extremely reluctant to discuss matters involving her family. Considering what occurred in her childhood, one would most certainly understand. It undoubtedly is a traumatic event that still lingers within the patient, manifesting itself in several ways that could possibly make her behavior quite aggressive, even borderline reckless under combat conditions. Her need for attention represents the lack of it given by her mother in the past and the distrust of authority represents the infidelity and betrayal of her mother before and during divorce proceedings. It should be noted that her need to prove herself, while most helpful in the right situations, could lead to great trouble down the line, possibly manifesting as acute paranoia of being supplanted by real or perceived rivals. Followup sessions are needed before the patient can be cleared for graduation and eventual transfer.' Lieutenant Marseilles, I wish to inform you that I know of the traumatic event in question and for the sake of your privacy will not delve into it whatsoever.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Now, back to the findings of Doctor Wassermann, do you agree with any of them?”

“No. There's nothing wrong with me.”

“Is that so? The way I look at it, your past conduct seems to paint a clear picture of one who does in fact want attention, who does distrust authority, and who perceives others as threats to your position.”

“That is merely your entitled opinion Lieutenant Divale. I see it as some quack doctor and a poor lawyer reaching for conclusions.”

“Then let us look through the stenographer's minutes shall we?” The warlock turned to the old woman who was typing away and asked, “Would you mind madam reading aloud to the court again the minutes of this trial starting at when I quoted then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn?”

The woman nodded and took a careful hold of the long paper. She squinted her eyes a ad as she searched for the statement in question. When she found it, she cleared her throat and began. “(MARSEILLES) Not at all. I could tell deep down that she was jealous of me and my abilities and thus would do and say anything to slander me. (DIVALE) Up to and including your eventual transfer to the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I that was based in North Africa along with Pilot Officer Pottgen? (MARSEILLES) Yes. There's no doubt in my mind that she wanted to get rid of me so that she and her precious friend could run the show all by themselves.”

“That will be enough stenographer. Thank you.” the warlock stated. He then regarded Marseilles and explained, “I brought that up because I feel that you are the one reaching for conclusions lieutenant. I know Gertrude Barkhorn and Erica Hartmann personally. We fought in the 501st together. Though I will admit to the court that there is no love lost between you and Gertrude Barkhorn, I've observed nothing that would indicate that they had any sort of agenda in trying to hold you back or belittle you in any way. That, and there is no evidence to suggest such a thing. Going back to your lack of allies at the Berlin Flight Instruction School, it is quite clear to all here that they didn't suddenly turn against you just because they wanted to rob you as you so allege of your top student position, it was because they would've known about your fragile mental state and acted accordingly. Copies of Exhibit H are in fact within their personal records at the German War Ministry. Finally, hitting on the acute paranoia, did you or did you not perceive me as a threat to your command of the 31st JFS Afrika?”

“Yes I most certainly did, but that matter has been cleared up.” Hanna replied, stewing in her seat.

“Why did you think that I would want your command?”

“I didn't trust you and I didn't trust Air Commander Neumann. We were perfectly fine just with me and Pilot Officer Pottgen.”

“Did you have the same feelings regarding the rest of the squadron?”

“Yes.”

“Even regarding your friend Pilot Officer Pottgen?”

“No, never. Pilot Officer Pottgen and I have a good relationship with each other that was forged at the Berlin Flight Instruction School. We've been through thick and thin together and there isn't a single person out there that I trust with my life and well being.”

“So you only trust your friend. Sounds like favoritism to me does it not?”

“It's not favoritism when it involves friends.”

“Yet you claim it in regards to Gertrude Barkhorn and Erica Hartmann.”

“That's different.”

“How is that different? Is it because it's them and not you?”

The German witch sat there as silent as a librarian placing books back on the shelves. Rommel did not like the quiet and commanded, “Answer the question please Lieutenant Marseilles.”

“There is no need your honor.” Aaron quipped, waving his hand before Hanna could open her mouth. “I withdraw the question. Her silence has told me everything I needed to hear.”

“I'm not crazy.” Marseilles growled through gritted teeth. “If I was, how on earth was I allowed to graduate and get transferred not once but twice within seven or so months?”

Divale pointed her left index finger straight up and responded, “Because Doctor Wassermann wasn't the only psychologist who saw you am I correct?”

“That is true. I do remember a Doctor...” Hanna began, but then stopped, placing her hands against her head as she tried to think. “Oh what was his name.... I remember! Doctor Linzer! Yes, I think that was his name.”

“And indeed it was.” the warlock remarked as he went back to his suitcase and produced another small folder. “I wish to present Exhibit I to the court. This is a copy of the two sessions that then Pilot Officer Marseilles and then Doctor Linzer had towards the end of her training at the Berlin Flight Instruction School and her last days with the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel respectfully.” One of the bailiffs dutifully came up and took the evidence to the judges. “Just so the court and those present have some sort of context as to what I'm about to discuss with Lieutenant Marseilles, Doctor Wassermann on the eve before he was to have another session with the lieutenant took ill and Doctor Linzer was appointed as his temporary replacement.” He then walked back up to the witness stand and asked, “I know this question might be difficult for you to answer considering how hard replying to my previous one was, but do you recall anything of Doctor Linzer?”

“Yes.” Hanna replied. “He was very soft spoken and understanding. I opened up to him quite easily and he never shoved my past into my face like Wassermann did.”

“Did he have with him Doctor Wassermann's session notes?”

“That he did, but he never looked at them.”

“Why?”

“He told me that he felt that Doctor Wassermann was being way too cautious in my diagnosis. Said that there was nothing at all amiss, just the usual teenage angst that all young women experience at that age.”

Aaron's jaw dropped. _Teenage angst?! Are you fucking kidding me right now!_ “Teenage angst he said?”

“Correct?”

“And he gave this diagnosis without ever once sifting through Doctor Wassermann's session notes?”

“Also correct.”

Divale turned and faced the gallery giving brief looks at the equally flabbergasted judges. “Those words from Doctor Linzer removed any obstacles in the way of then Pilot Officer Marseilles graduation, commission, and transfer to the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel.” He then went back to the defense table and rummaged through his suitcase again. “Upon recovering from his illness, Doctor Wassermann made an inquiry with the Berlin Flight Instruction School as to the whereabouts of then Pilot Officer Marseilles. When he received the reply that she had been granted her commission and transfer, he was mortified.” he stated after pulling out a single piece of paper. “I would like to present Exhibit J to the court. This is a transcript of an interview that I and Doctor Wassermann had at his home in Oxford on the date of the sixth of July of 1944.” One of the bailiffs dutifully came up and took the evidence to the judges. “He told me over tea that Doctor Linzer's diagnosis was the worst mistake in the history of psychology and promptly sent a telegram to then Pilot Officer Marseilles's commanding officer, then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn, stating and I quote, 'Her diagnosis is completely wrong. It is imperative that you severely limit Pilot Officer Marseilles involvement in aerial combat until such a time that I and I alone in my capacity with the military declare her mentally sound.'. His words didn't go unheeded. Then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn made sure that the instructions were followed to the letter, placing then Pilot Officer Marseilles into the second line and light reconnaissance duties. Things looked like they would soon get better for all involved until something unexpected happened. There was a massive shakeup within the German War Ministry that resulted in many newly elected officials taking the place of the old guard.” The warlock sprang back to the suitcase and took out another sheet of paper. “I would like to present Exhibit K to the court. This is a note containing all the names of those newly elected officials. Before it is submitted to the judges, I would like the witness to see this.”

“You may proceed.” Rommel agreed.

Divale strode up to the witness stand and held the sheet of paper in front of the German witch with his right hand. “Lieutenant Marseilles, do you recognize any of the names on this paper?” he inquired, a spark of frenzy in his voice.

Hanna looked at the paper and gasped. “Those-Those are my former instructors and commanding officers!” she cried out, shocked to the core of her being.

“How many of them?”

“All of them save for then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn.”

The paper was then handed over to the judges personally by Aaron and he continued with his questioning. “So a grand total of fifteen individuals with ties to your past were elected to some of the highest offices of the German War Ministry correct?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with me?”

“One of those offices was the Office of The Surgeon General. That particular entity is responsible for securing medical supplies, coordinating medical supply chains, scheduling medical examinations for the newly enlisted, and vetting any and all civilian psychologists for use in the exact same psychological examinations that you and everyone else took. They also have the power to devet, or essentially fire any psychologist that they feel is not doing well as it were. It was shortly after the dust settled that Doctor Wassermann was mysteriously let go and replaced by Doctor Linzer. This point is very important. Remember that it was Doctor Linzer that diagnosed the then Pilot Officer Marseilles as fit for active combat, but Doctor Wassermann intervened, making it so that he had the final say when it came to clearing her. Before the turnover at the German War Ministry, Doctor Wassermann could count on many allies, friends that held his judgment in high esteem. Now, he had none and was seen as a detriment to getting more pilots on the front lines.”

Rommel leaned forwards and placed his elbows on the table, steepling his hands in front of his face. “Do you have evidence to justify that previous statement?”

“I do you honor.” Divale replied, going back to his suitcase. It didn't take long for him to locate what he sought and he pulled out a sheet of paper. “I would like to present Exhibit L to the court. It is a copy of the original record from the German War Ministry detailing the reasons behind Doctor Wassermann's discharge.” One of the bailiffs dutifully came up and took the evidence to the judges. General Rommel took the paper in his hands and skimmed through it. Not even a second went by before a sour look came over his face. He shook his head in disbelief as he handed it over to his colleagues. They too were equally bewildered and confused.

“What rubbish is this?” Montgomery inquired.

“The horseshit kind Monty.” Patton answered.

“It gets much worse from there your honors.” the warlock stated. “The day after Doctor Lintzer was vetted on a permanent basis, he sent a telegram to then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn stating that he had the authority to countermand Doctor Wassermann and declared her fit for active duty in full capacity.” He looked over at Marseilles and pointed out, “It was here that then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn had a choice to make. She could go along with the words of Doctor Lintzer or she could transfer then Pilot Officer Marseilles out of the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel and sent over to the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I that was in the process of being rebased in North Africa, Cairo to be exact. Though I could not get any written testimony from now Captain Barkhorn on the matter, Doctor Wassermann does state in Exhibit J that he did in fact get a call from her asking him what to do and he told her, and I quote here from memory, 'I know you don't want her to suffer or have her blood on your hands lieutenant. If it were me on the other end, I would get her out of there and sent away, far away from those people. Hopefully she will get the help she needs.'. You see Lieutenant Marseilles, then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn didn't kick you out of the unit because of any malice, but of mercy.”

The German witch slumped in her chair, her eyes looking off into the distance yet focused on nothing. “I was wrong.” she murmured in a low voice.

“As was Doctor Lintzer I'm afraid. Two weeks after his appointment, he was indicted and later found guilty of numerous counts of bribery.” Divale further added. “In Exhibit J, Doctor Wassermann told me that Doctor Lintzer admitted under oath that he was pressured by various individuals to speed up the process of examining and clearing witch pilots to shore up gaps in the front lines whenever he had taken over for psychologists that couldn't fulfill their duties due to sickness, injury, or death. It was suspected that they had deep connections within the German War Ministry, but followup inquires on the matter turned up no evidence of wrongdoing. For each one he cleared, he would receive a payment from an anonymous donor who would leave it in a dead drop that only he knew about. In those two weeks before his arrest, he had accumulated well over one hundred thousand marks. He also admitted that when he took over for Doctor Wassermann during his sickness, he took it upon himself to clear several pilots at the Berlin Flight Instruction School. There were no names mentioned, but a full investigation was launched, albeit quietly as to not rock the boat. They found out that you were one of those that he cleared under those pretenses.”

Hanna sat bolt upright as a horrible thought raced through her mind. “Wait a minute! What does that mean regarding my commission?! If I got it through a misdiagnosis, then-” she started to say, but the warlock raised his right hand, quelling the words in her throat.

“That is not why we're here Lieutenant Marseilles. What these facts mean in regards to your commission will be addressed at another time and at another place.” he stated, doing his best to allay her fears. Aaron felt pity as he beheld the witch holding her hands over her mouth, trying to slow down her breathing, clearly scared out of her mind. “Speaking of another time and place, despite your travels, there was always one constant by your side: Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen.”

Marseilles looked back up at the warlock and slowly nodded. “Yes. She's been with me since the Berlin Flight Instruction School.” she replied.

“Have you ever asked yourself why that is?” Hanna looked back at him in silence, not understanding what he was getting at. Aaron turned around and walked back to his suitcase. “What I'm about to disclose to you and the rest of the court is something that will be very hard to listen to. Even I had trouble sitting through it all.” he acknowledged as he rummaged around. A second later, he pulled out a ear communicator. “I wish to present Exhibit M to the court. This is a recording taken last night on the seventh of July where I questioned Pilot Officer Pottgen on this very subject. With permission, I wish to play it.”

“Proceed, but please adjust the volume so that all may hear this.” Rommel stated from the bench. Divale nodded and began to get to work. The communicator looked comically small in his monstrous hands, but he adjusted the delicate mechanisms gracefully as if he designed the thing personally. Within a few seconds, everything was ready and he pressed the replay button. The courtroom was suddenly filled with the sounds of a young woman crying, but the sobs seemed to be muffled somehow, like trying to speak through a thick pillow. Then, the warlock's voice came on. “Rai, you don't have to do this is you don't want to.”

“I know,” Pottgen's voice replied, cracking as she sniffled, “but I need to say this. I've been keeping it bottled up for so long, I'm amazed I haven't burst or developed a drinking problem.”

“Here, dry your eyes and take a few deep breaths. There you go.”

“Thank you.” A few seconds went by, the comms occasionally making a small pop as the witch took those few deep breaths that were suggested to her. “Outside of Doctor Wassermann and Hanna, I was the only one that knew about what happened to her when she got to the Berlin Training School.”

“How did you find out?”

“It was shortly after orientation, when the newest class got addressed by the senior flight instructors. We all got supper, but Hanna was taken somewhere else around halfway through by an MP. From what I remember, she was not too happy about it and had this sour look to her face.”

“What went through your mind when you saw that?”

“That was the strangest thing. At the time, I didn't know who she was, but I felt this odd attraction to her. It felt like I was a moth fluttering around in the night and she was the candlelight that beckoned me closer. I always was very curious about people, comes with being an artist I guess, and I politely excused myself from the table.”

“So you followed them?”

“Very carefully. Though it was only the first day, the instructors had the support personnel watch us like prisoners. Was quite the feat to sneak and slunk around, but I managed it. They, the MP and Hanna that is, went over to one of the hangers and went inside. After they crossed the threshold, I crept up to the door and peered through the small window. The inside was dimly lit and Hanna was sitting in a chair, the MP off to her side, and in front of her, also sitting down was Doctor Wassermann. Of course, I didn't know his name, but I knew what kind of job he had on base.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“His clothes. They were too civilian like. That and the way he carried himself made it clear to me that he definitely wasn't part of the military.”

“What happened next?”

“The two began to talk. Doctor Wassermann introduced himself and brought up the subject, reading from a small folder he had with him. After a minute, Hanna just clammed up, not speaking a single word and looking away at the floor. That didn't deter the psychologist, and he continued without a care in the world. As he spoke on and on about... that, Hanna started crying and begged him to stop. Wassermann kept right on going, totally ignoring her. He went on and on until Hanna literally stood up from her chair and screamed at him to shut up or she was going to beat him within an inch of his life.”

“What did the MP do during this?”

“Simply stood there, but I could tell from his body language that he wasn't enjoying himself. Neither was I. Picture it Aaron. I'm standing at the threshold of a closed door eavesdropping on a conversation that I wished I never heard, but could pry myself away from. I was paralyzed with so many conflicting emotions. I felt angry, I felt sad, I felt pity, but out of all of those feelings I felt that night, I felt a sense of purpose come over me as I watched Hanna suffer through that.”

“What sort of purpose?”

“To protect her. I'm not psychologist, I'm an artist Aaron, but the two professions have one thing in common: we both can feel what the subject is trying to convey to us.”

“And what did you feel?”

“I felt this weakness about her, a vulnerability that needed to be sectioned off from prying eyes lest someone took advantage of it. Then the call to bed was announced and I hightailed it back to the barracks. Got changed when I got there and went off to bed. During the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of someone crying nearby. My bunk was the last in line so the wall was too my left. I look right and there was Hanna, her back to me, sobbing in her sleep. Everyone else was asleep. What you might call maternal instinct kicked in and I couldn't let it stand Aaron so I got up from my bed, went over, and held her. I rocked her in my arms gently and whispered in her ears, knowing that she couldn't hear me, that everything was going be okay, that I'm here and nothing bad was going to happen to her. Then, a miracle happened. She stopped crying and drifted off to a more comfortable slumber. I went back to bed and slept like I had just punched my ticket to heaven. Since that night, I made it my personal mission in life to be by her side, to make sure that she was alright.”

“Must have been a hell of mission.”

“Yes it was. Bear in mind, Hanna was an excellent student and an extremely gifted witch for her age. She was head and shoulders above everyone else, even the flight instructors themselves. Some of the best grades I've ever seen too. Everything she did day in and day out was meticulously managed down to the second. Remarkable self discipline and drive. It inspired me to go on with what I was doing and it helped me realize that I stood something to gain from her. However, Hanna had a very mean streak and it got her into trouble very often. One minute, she's berating a flight instructor, next comes some stern words to then Pilot Officer Hartmann to shape up or ship out, and to top it all off, gets reprimanded for insubordination. And all before breakfast ended.”

“I would laugh here, but I know you're not exaggerating.”

“The other pilots talked about her behind her back, saying that she's got some sort of death wish, that she's nuts, that she was the one that had better shape up or ship out. It made me so angry that I too acted out.”

“So you got into trouble too? Why did you do that?”

“I honestly don't know Aaron. Even after all these years, I still have no clue. If I were to venture a guess, I did it to be with her in the brig. The first few times, she hardly said a word to me, but then she opened up to me little by little.”

“What did you two talk about.”

“Mostly about how stupid the flight instructors were and that the CO's were nothing but their toadies. Sometimes we discussed tactics, how the war was looking, what we were going to do when we got out of the Berlin Flight School, and ourselves. I didn't touch upon the subject of family because I knew that it would set her off, so I just said that I was a good girl from a modest family.”

“And were you?”

“Oh yes. My mother and father prided themselves on how well behaved I was. Whenever we had company at the house they would call me down from my room and show me off.”

“Didn't you get tired of that? I personally would get annoyed with the whole thing. You're a human being; not a dog. Speaking of annoyed, did your parents hear about the trouble you were getting into?”

“Yes they did and the phone calls I got from them were downright horrible. They chewed me out raw for getting sent to the brig. They asked, 'What was the matter with you? We raised you better than that. Why are you doing this?'. I played it off as some sort of misunderstanding and told them that nothing has changed with me.”

“But something did change. You and Hanna became friends.”

The sobbing came back with a vengeance as the court listened. “Yes I did. I became her not only her friend, but her rock. She trusted me implicitly with everything, even her past which she confided to me towards the end of our training. Hanna still hadn't gotten better and deep down I thought that she was going to be left behind while I graduated and went off to war. I was caught in a bind. Either give up on her and right my ship, or risk suffering the same fate as her, except under different skies with different people. I dragged my reputation through the mud for her, I walked through burning coals for her, even placed myself in the line of fire so that she wouldn't get hurt, but never once, never ever ever once did I hear a thank you. Still, I went on, knowing full well that I could risk destroying my career. As every day drew nearer to graduation, the more and more I pushed myself, but nothing seemed to work. Suddenly, Hanna got cleared at the eleventh hour and graduated with honors. I was so happy for her, but then came the deployment orders. It was here that I was truly scared for, what if, after all that, that she was sent one place and me another. I couldn't bear the thought. I had a mission and I was determined to follow through with it, for better or for worse. They could send her to the worst section of the front where the odds of your survival are measured in hours and not days and I would still be willing to be by her side. I went over to my commanding officer and pleaded with him on literal hand and foot to be sent wherever Hanna was going. He accepted despite being particularly fond of either of us and off we went to the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel.” Raisa cried out.

“During that time, did you think that Hanna was alright? Did you think that she was truly over it?”

“Not at all. The behavior she displayed at the Berlin Flight Instruction School was still there and, in some cases, got even worse.”

“People get like that. The moment you get a extra bar or star or two, you feel like you're invincible, that you're better than everyone else. I've seen it plenty of times out there.”

“Most people didn't grow up with the same trauma that she did Aaron.”

“Enough about that, let's talk about the times you both had with the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel.”

“It was really nice seeing new people and all, but Hanna fixated her attention on then Pilot Officer Erica Hartmann who came with us.”

“Hartmann went to the Jagdgeschwader 52 4th Staffel? She never told me about that.”

“Most of us don't talk about it. It was a meat grinder Aaron. A full squadron would be sent off on a mission and come back with less than half its strength. You learned very quickly to not make friends.”

“Did you worry about your life or of Hanna's?”

“Yes, but I was confident that we would be alright and that she would quickly mesh with everyone else.”

“I take it that it didn't happen.”

“No. She went above and beyond what was needed to add to her shot down total. There were so many times that she went ahead against orders or even got in the way of someone's shot just to secure the kill herself that she spent more time in the brig than she did in the sky. Drove her commanding officer, then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn crazy. The feeling was mutual. Hanna would accuse her of intentionally sabotaging her career by placing her in the rear or holding her in reserve and call her a siscon.”

“Ouch.”

“And, yet again, I was there sticking my neck out, however this time, the ax didn't cut my throat. It puzzled me for the longest time until then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn came up to me and explained to me why. She had all the notes from Doctor Wassermann and was following them to the letter. When she was done telling me why, it all made sense to me.”

“You ever tell Hanna about this?”

“No. She'd never believe me.”

“You'd never know that unless you tried.”

“What's done is done Aaron. Nothing can change that now.”

“So what else?”

“Our forces suffered greatly, but the number of missions we went on grew exponentially. It was only going to be a matter of time before circumstances forced then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn's hand into sending Hanna up. Then, just like before, she got cleared again by someone who managed to overrule Doctor Wassermann. The moment that happened, both Hanna and I were sent to the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I.”

“Did you talk to then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn on the matter like you did with your former commanding officer at the Berlin Flight Instruction School?

“No, she just told me to keep doing what I was doing, no matter how hard things get.”

“Now back then, the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I was under the direct command of Air Commander Edytha Neumann am I correct?”

“Yes and I could tell right away that she felt extremely hesitant on taking Hanna under her wing. She had all the notes about her on her desk, the stacks of paper forming a divider, and she had this odd look to her face, like she was searching for a reason, any reason to reject her. Thankfully she didn't and Edytha brought her into the fold. Her teaching style was heavily skewed towards psychological manipulation which made me quite suspicious of her at the start.”

“Why would that be? Many leaders use that tactic when trying to teach new recruits all the time. Appealing to the ego and the desires of the individual in piecemeal doses does indeed have a beneficial effect. However, it must be intensely monitored or else things could get ugly. I've made that mistake a few times.”

“I didn't know that then and I kept my eye on her, which in of itself was hard to do because the North African front back then was very fluid. One day, we would be ready to punch through them, but the the next day dawns and we'd fall back to another defense line.”

“Sounds like that the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I was in need of a hero. Any kind of hero.”

“And they got one. Everything that Edytha taught her, Hanna absorbed like a sponge. Her shot down counts rose fast, incredibly fast. Within two months, she notched her one hundredth kill and earned herself the Knights Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords. Everyone looked to her for guidance and rallied around her. It was remarkable what she did in such a short time. I'd like to think this was how the French saw Joan of Arc, a shining beacon of hope in troubled times.”

“A light that drew a lot of attention I take it?”

“The paparazzi followed us like a lovesick teenager tailing his high school crush, asking for interviews, pictures, and autographs. Now, Hanna never signed anything. Don't know why, but she definitely did the photoshoots and sat for interviews. Got paid a pretty penny for those.”

“Is that even legal? To accept payments like that?”

“Of course, as long as you write them down and sent the figures to your commanding officer. I made sure of that.”

“Though you didn't trust Air Commander Neumann?”

“I came around after she started adjusting her methods and gave her a squadron to command. Technically Katou Keiko was the squadron leader, but it was really Hanna's baby. With the tools necessary to perform at her best, we tore through the enemy like a blowtorch through butter.”

“And how was Hanna at this point?”

“Amazingly good. She seemed to get a lot better. Hanna got much more composed, even aloof in some cases during times of great stress. Edytha really helped in unlocking her potential. Doesn't mean that there weren't any problems.”

“Like?”

“She got addicted to the fame. When you combine that with the shot down totals, she became obsessed with success. It was so subtle that even I admit that I didn't see it at first, but when I did, I got really frightened. So, I talked to Edytha about it and we both came to the conclusion that we had to restrict the ability of the press to see her. Boy that was tough to do. I was like a guard dog barking at any perceived threat that came up.”

“Did you come to the point where you had to beat them off with a stick?”

“No, but if it didn't come with consequences, I would've have.”

“A pity, but go on.”

“Things went more or less okay until the reversal happened. It hit Hanna hard, hell, it hit all of us hard. With me and her the sole exceptions, every one of our squadron members were lost to the enemy and implanted with cores. And would you believe that she got blame for it in some circles?”

“Blamed? There was no way that anyone could've planned for something like that. Getting attacked by your own people? There's no way someone could be blamed for that.”

“You'd be surprised. I was there and saw it all and I knew that she was blameless, but she still got the losses shoved in her face every waking moment. The composure stayed with her, but the aloofness was gone and once the retreat started, the success quickly followed suit. The reporters all wanted to get a story, but given the situation, they really couldn't get a scoop. Hanna pleaded with Edytha some days to at least tell them something, anything, just so she could get her mind off of what had happened.”

“She still said no huh?”

“And so did I. The decision killed me, but it had to be done. Hanna was in no condition to give an interview or even get a picture of her. She did her best to hide her pain, but there's no amount of makeup and lighting in the word that can cover up the sadness, the dark circles under the eyes, the empty stares at a particular object or place that reminds you of those lost. You remember how I reacted when we first met?”

“I do.”

“I did that because I was secretly upset with myself. I saw her suffer so much as her protector that I became convinced that I had failed in that some days. I was so ashamed of myself that I took over managing all visits because I didn't want them to see the product of my weakness, of my ineptitude.”

“You are not weak or inept Raisa. Making a conscious decision to act as a support for someone and sticking through it for years is one of the greatest things you can accomplish in life. Most people in your shoes would've abandoned her a long time ago.”

“I'm scared about tomorrow Aaron. If she's-”

“Let me worry about that Raisa. You've done enough. Get some rest and let me handle things for a bit. We'll get her through this. I promise.”

Aaron then turned off the communicator and made a move to pick it up, but for some strange reason, still heard something. Puzzled, he turned his head in the general direction where the noise was coming from and he saw a hard to bear sight. In the witness stand, Lieutenant Marseilles sat there, looking straight at him, clearly on the verge of tears. He could see that she finally got the message for he too had that same look to his face not that long ago. Divale nodded out of sympathy and the floodgates burst. Tears cascaded down Hanna's face and she put her head in her hands, leaning forwards and sobbing hard. The warlock waved off the bailiff who tried to come and collect the evidence and looked at the gallery and the judges. No one liked looking at the sight and some were silently crying. As for the general's, Montgomery had his right hand under his chin, pressing hard into his flesh, Rommel sucked in his teeth, and Patton, the closest to the weeping witch, flexed his fingers and looked at the ceiling. _I don't envy anyone in this room one bit._ Aaron then slowly walked to the witness stand and called out calmly, “Lieutenant Marseilles?” His words fell on deaf ears as the said lieutenant continued to weep. That was when he tried a different tactic. Clearing his throat, he called out, “Hanna?” That did it. By minute degrees, Marseilles lifted her head and took her hands away from her face, sniffling and wiping the tears away from her face. “Was what Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen stated about you never thanking her true?” he inquired.

Hanna nodded and choked out, “Yes and I'm so very sorry for it.”

“In life lieutenant, you will encounter two types of people. You will find those that are merely there and those that are there for you. Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen has sacrificed and suffered much to keep you safe from something that you thought you never needed protection from. Do you have any idea what I mean?”

“Yes I do.”

“And what would that be?”

Hanna's gaze turned over to Raisa, tears still pouring down her cheeks. “I'm not alright. I'm not alright up here in the head. I want the pain to stop. I need help. Please help me.” she confessed, her voice cracking and breaking in some parts.

“The last question I have for you Lieutenant Marseilles is not an easy one for me to ask, but I must do it. Just to be clear, you are admitting under oath that something is amiss with you and has been for a long time?

The witch's lower lip trembled and her voice shook like a building in an earthquake as she forced out, “Y-Yes.”

Divale regarded the judges and announced, “No further questions your honors.”

“You may be dismissed Lieutenant Hanna-Justina Marseilles.” Rommel declared. Hanna then tried to get out of her seat, but was having a bit of trouble due to the wracking sobs making her back twitch. Aaron immediately offered his right arm to his superior officer. The move took the lieutenant aback and she looked at him in shock. A second passed as the two stared each other down. Then, Marseilles' face softened and she took his right arm with both hands, leaning her head into the crook of his elbow. The pair walked back to the defense bench and the warlock sat her down gently in her seat. Once he did so, Aaron made a move to proceed with the calling of his next witness, but Hanna gave his right hand a squeeze. It made him look down at her. The tears had stopped flowing and she mouthed 'thank you'. Tears of his own welled up, but they didn't fall. 'You're welcome' he mouthed back and he walked away, the grip of the witch coming loose.

He gave a mighty sniffle and blinked as he journeyed back to his position. “I wish to call Air Commander Edytha Neumann to the stand.” he announced. Neumann got up from her chair and moved from the gallery to the witness stand. One of the bailiffs was there waiting for her with a Bible in his hand.

“Place your right hand on the bible and raise your left.” the MP that had swore in Hanna commanded. Edytha did so and he then asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God?”

“I do.” Neumann answered without hesitation and promptly sat down.

“The court recognizes the witness.” Montgomery announced. He then regarded Aaron and motioned for him to proceed.

“Air Commander Neumann, at what time did you become the de facto leader of the Jagdgeschwader 27 Gruppe I?” Divale asked.

“The first of June, 1941.”

“At that time you were being rebased in Cairo, Egypt am I correct?”

“That's correct.”

“At what time did then Pilot Officer Marseilles and Pilot Officer Pottgen arrive?”

“If memory serves me right, that would be around early 1942. Possibly March.”

“Did you know what kind of pilots they were before they arrived?”

“Yes, their commanding officer, then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn furnished me with all the details.”

“Was it as hefty as Exhibit G?”

“It was a tad less, but not by much.”

“What did you think when you saw that?”

“I leaned back in my chair, put my hands on my forehead, and asked myself, 'What am I going to do with her?'”

“And by her you mean then Pilot Officer Marseilles?”

“Of course.”

“When you two finally met face to face, what sort of impression did you get of her?”

“She was very driven to do whatever it took to get results, especially those that got her recognition. That's fine in a new pilot. Happens all the time. After they get a few sorties under their belt, they mature. However, then Pilot Officer Marseilles was far from new. She had some combat experience on the Eastern Front, so seeing that in her was most unusual. As for Pilot Officer Pottgen, she was quite mature for her age, yet seemed to carry something that bore down heavily on her shoulders.”

“How did the meeting go?”

“Pretty much how every first meeting went. I introduced myself and swore that I would train her be the best witch in the world. You should've been there. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.”

“Did you know at the time that you were appealing to her ego?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The key to getting a pilot to push themselves to get better as well as to achieve victory over the enemy is to get them into thinking that their decisions have a benefit to all involved. I prided myself in figuring out each one of my pilots. Some are very easy, as was the case with then Pilot Officer Marseilles, but others not so much. I used her ego and the image she crafted for herself to not only drive her onward, but to rein her in when she strayed too far out.”

“Ingenious. Out of curiosity, what made Pilot Officer Pottgen tick shall we say?”

“A fierce dedication to her friend, a dedication that I wished to get to the bottom of in private.”

“So you had a second meeting with Pilot Officer Pottgen?”

“Yes, it took place in the evening of that same day. When I called her in, Pilot Officer Pottgen was incredibly nervous, even after I assured her that nothing was amiss, I just wanted to talk with her.”

“How did it go?”

“It took a lot of verbal wrangling to get her to open up about then Pilot Officer Marseilles, but when I succeeded, it all came out all at once. It was very shocking to listen to and it really made me suspicious.”

“How so?”

“Pilot Officer Pottgen was adamant that then Pilot Officer Marseilles had an unresolved psychological issue and was consistently being misdiagnosed.”

“For what purpose?”

“I didn't know then, but I called and telegraphed every flight instructor and commanding officer she had, even the Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn and then Pilot Officer Erica Hartmann.”

Aaron then went over to his suitcase and pulled out a folder. “I wish to present Exhibit N to the court. Inside are copies of all the telegrams that Air Commander Edytha Neumann sent and received from the various individuals described.” he stated. One of the bailiffs came over, collected the folder, and gave it to the judges. He then turned his attention back to the witch and inquired, “So what did you find out? What did they have to say?”

“Not nice things.” Edytha replied. “With maybe the exceptions of then Lieutenant Gertrude Barkhorn and then Pilot Officer Erica Hartmann, they were uniformly negative. There wasn't a single encouraging word to be found in any of them. I got the impression that they all thought she was trouble and wanted nothing to do with her. One of them said, and I quote, 'If news should reach me of her death, I would shed tears, but not from sadness or regret'.”

Divale then looked to one of the bailiffs and asked, “Could I please have Exhibit K to show the witness?” The man nodded and dutifully took the paper and handed it over to the warlock. He turned it over so that the air commander could see and asked, “Of the names on this list, who said those not so nice things as you describe them?”

“All of them.” Edytha answered.

“What did that make you think?”

“Given that they were just then elected to some high positions in the German War Ministry, come hell or high water, she was going to be stuck here for a long long time.”

“And during the course of that long long time, how did then Pilot Officer Marseilles do under your wing.”

“Amazing. Outstanding work day in and out. Within a few months, she shot down more bogeys that some entire squadrons did in that same time frame.”

“Was she rewarded for her efforts.”

“Indeed. I promoted her to lieutenant and, at her behest, helped form the 31st JFS Afrika.”

“Did anything unusual occur during this time?”

“On the field no, but off certainly.”

“Explain.”

“It was shortly after the papers published an editorial on now Lieutenant Marseilles one hundredth kill and promotion that quite a few telegrams came my way from those same exact individuals on Exhibit K.”

“What were those telegrams about?”

“They concerned the state of Lieutenant Marseilles and if it were at all possible to have her transferred back to the Eastern Front as an instructor at the Berlin Flight Training School.”

“So let me see if I'm getting this correct; those exact same people on Exhibit K who several months previous wanted nothing at all to do with Lieutenant Marseilles, now want her back as a flight instructor?

“Yes, you're correct and, like you, I was equally puzzled. It made no sense so I sent telegrams asking why.”

“What were the replies?”

“Some admitted that she was right about the lack of up to date tactics and maneuvers while others stated that her talent was far too precious to lose at this point and wanted her behind the lines as to keep her safe and pass on her knowledge to new pilots.”

“Did you tell her about this at all?”

“No, I most certainly did not.”

“Why?”

“It sounded far too much like what Lieutenant Marseilles experienced on the Eastern Front with her former unit where she was basically grounded and kept in reserve. I knew for a fact that she didn't want to go back to that sort of existence, so I kept her in the dark.”

“Was that the only reason?”

“If I were to tell her, Lieutenant Marseilles would've probably told me to diplomatically shove it up their collective asses.”

Aaron turned away from the air commander and looked at Hanna who looked much better than before. “Would you have?” he asked her. The witch nodded enthusiastically with a big smile on her face. He then turned back to Edytha and simply shrugged his shoulders, “Guess we have an answer to that.” he stated. “So I take it you ignored them or turned them down?”

“Yes, but they kept right on insisting that I should transfer her back to Germany.”

“So they sent more?”

“Yes they did. On average two a day.”

“Over how long of a time frame?”

“A month and a half.”

“Doing the math in my head, that would equal roughly ninety telegrams if we go by that average. Did it lessen after a while?”

“Only after it became apparent that we were in the process of winning, that we were consistently driving the Neuroi back. In my mind, I think they saw that and thought that it was only a matter of time before the campaign concluded and then their request would gain more weight and eventually be granted.”

“Then the reversal happened and everything they dreamed of fizzled into nothing.”

“Regardless, it didn't faze them in the least.”

“Really? Explain.”

“They sent a new series of telegrams demanding up to date reports on what was going on. Obviously, I did so despite the chaos and uncertainty going around. Then they inquired about the 31st JFS Afrika and how they were doing. At that point, they were getting torn apart piece by piece with every passing day. Pilots were lost to the enemy and implanted with Neuroi cores. I didn't tell them the nature of their fates, but I did say that losses had been sustained. I figured that it would be an end to matter, but then they came back with a startling accusation.”

“What accusation would that be?”

“That Lieutenant Marseilles was directly responsible for their deaths and that she should be investigated immediately.”

“To what end?”

“To remove her from command of the 31st JFS Afrika and sent to England to answer for her apparent crimes.”

“And that was directly stated?

“Yes. It was on the last telegram sent to me on the twentieth of April 1944.”

Rommel then suddenly quipped from the judges bench, “So very confusing. They first want nothing to do with Lieutenant Marseilles, then they want her back, and now want her punished. What were they thinking?”

“Don't take this the wrong way general, but I believe the correct closing phrase here would be: What? Were they thinking?” Montgomery countered.

“Sounds like a bad relationship to me.” Patton mused. “Neither side wants the other, but can't really be apart.”

“Again, I take it you kept all this away from Lieutenant Marseilles's knowledge am I correct?” the warlock inquired of Neumann.

“I tried to, but unfortunately there was a leak.” Edytha replied sadly.

“What sort of leak?”

“Pilot Officer Raisa Pottgen inadvertently stumbled across that correspondence while helping me reorganize my tent for the umpteenth time and confronted me with it.”

“You told her everything didn't you?”

“Only the calls for her punishment, not them wishing for her transfer.”

“I see.” Aaron then looked up at the judges and stated, “No further questions your honors.”

“You may be dismissed Air Commander Edytha Neumann.” Rommel announced. As the witch made her way back to the gallery, he regarded Divale and stated, “You build a fine case Lieutenant Divale, but in my mind you have yet to provide the smoking gun as it were that would wholly convince us of this conspiracy. I understand you have one more witness to call, but I and the rest of us wish to know right now if you can adequately answer that question?”

“Absolutely.” Aaron replied with confidence, turning on his heels and walking back to the suitcase on the defense table.

“You may proceed.” Rommel called out as Divale pulled out a sheet of paper, keeping it close to his chest so that no one could read it.

“I wish to call General Erwin Rommel to the stand.” the warlock declared, drawing gasps of shock and awe from the gallery and making the judges look at each other with puzzled looks, furrowed brows, and cocked eyes.

“Such a request cannot be done Lieutenant Divale.” Montgomery replied sternly.

“A sitting judge cannot serve as a witness in the same case that he or she is trying. Conflict of interest you understand.” Patton agreed.

“Then, if I can't call on the esteemed General Rommel as a witness, can I call upon him to answer a single question as a fellow solider under oath of his own free will?” Aaron asked.

The trio of generals leaned close to each other and began to whisper among themselves. It took several long seconds, seconds that seemed like minutes before they withdrew. “I see no reason why not if it's only a single question.” Rommel decided. He gestured for the bailiff to come to him with the Bible.

The man did so and commanded respectfully, “Place your right hand on the bible and raise your left.” The German general did so and he then asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? So help you God?”

“I do.” Rommel replied. He then locked his eyes with the warlock's and inquired, “So what is your question Lieutenant Divale?”

Aaron walked right up to within an arms reach of the bench and turned the sheet of paper around, “Do you recognize this document General Rommel?” When the man's eyes caught a glance of the document, he stood up in his chair as if he'd just sat on a bee, face as white as the page.

“How in the world did you get that?” Rommel queried in a low voice.

“You can't answer a question with a question general.” Aaron pointed out. “I ask again: Do you recognize this document?”

Both Montgomery and Patton grew very concerned about what they were seeing and eyed each other and Rommel warily. Then, the German general slowly sat back down and stared down at the bench, taking off his cap with his right hand and running his left hand through his hair. He sighed deeply and nodded. “I do recognize that document Lieutenant Divale. That paper was inside the evidence packet that I received on the fifth of July. It explains in no uncertain terms that in exchange for trying and convicting Lieutenant Marseilles of the charges, I would, at the conclusion of the North African Campaign, be given any choice of command.” he admitted.

The entire courtroom went dead silent. No one could believe what had just come out of the general's mouth. “Say it isn't true Rommel.” Montgomery pleaded desperately. “This has to be some mistake. You had to have misspoke.”

“I know you wanted to be back on the main lines for a good while Erwin, but no command is worth an innocent life. How could you look at yourself in mirror after that?” Patton demanded.

Rommel shook his head from side to side. “This is not a mistake nor did I misspeak. And yes, it is also true that I've wanted to command my old unit since my removal and transfer to North Africa, but due to my perceived failures on the continent, my chances of getting it back were slim to none. The only reason why I came to North Africa was to show them that I was not incompetent, that my failures were due to logistics and not bungling. When I saw that paper, I saw my best chance of regaining all that I had taken away from me. Even though it meant the death of Lieutenant Marseilles, I still went with it.” he illuminated. He then regarded the gallery and Hanna and declared emphatically, “But not any longer. This is clearly the most vile conspiracy ever drawn up since the betrayal of Christ himself.”

“Unlike that conspiracy general,” Aaron observed, “this one can get nipped in the bud before anything comes of it. I know of General Eisenhower's frequency. I used it during the Dover Castle Incident. It still works and I'll tell him all about this so that he can launch a full mass arrest and investigation quietly. I also assure you that your involvement will not be disseminated. Had this case gone south, it would've. Thankfully for us all, things will turn out good for all parties involved.”

“Anything else you wish to state to the court?” Rommel asked.

“No your honors. The defense rests.” Divale announced. Upon him stating that, the entire gallery rose up and applauded him as he went back to his seat. Hanna was clapping her hands the most and the moment he sat down, she gave him a big hug that caught him by surprise.

“You did it!” she hissed into his ear happily. “You actually fucking did it!”

“Not until the verdict is given.” the warlock whispered back, prying her hands off of him. The pair then looked over at the judges who looked at each other in silence, having a conversation with their eyes and body language.

“Since we are all in agreement,” Rommel stated, “we will now proceed with the verdict. May the defendant and her lawyer please rise.” The lieutenant's did so and the German general cleared his throat. “As to the charge of dereliction of duty, we find Lieutenant Marseilles not guilty. As to the charge of dissemination of military secrets, we find Lieutenant Marseilles not guilty. On that, there was no debate. Was is debatable is the state of Lieutenant Marseilles commission. After some thought, it is the opinion of this court that Lieutenant Marseilles's commission is to be declared valid under the condition that upon the conclusion of the North African campaign that she undergo another psychological examination and receive any and all therapy so that her mental state can be improved. As an aside, I would like to state as not just a fellow soldier but as a man that I'm deeply ashamed and appalled by Lieutenant Marseilles's treatment. From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely apologize and I will ensure that those who treated you so shamefully will be brought to justice. Concerning said impending investigation, all accounts of this trial are to be declared top secret and expunged from the official transcripts. Under no circumstances will the events of this case be talked about in any record, up to and including Lieutenant Divale's diary. Since this has been an exhausting event for us all, I hereby allow the 31st JFS Afrika leave to do and travel wherever they please until such a time as we will begin the final offensive against the enemy and crush them once and for all. Court is adjourned.” he announced, concluding the case with a strike of the gavel upon the bench.

Aaron then turned to Marseilles and commented, “Now I actually fucking did it.”

“Yes!” Raisa shouted at the top of her lungs as she leapt from her seat in the gallery and vaulted over the wooden barrier. Not to far behind her was Edytha, who took the proper way. Within moments all three Germans and the sole warlock were together at the defense table, smiling and hugging as if they were lifelong friends seeing each other for the first time in years.

In the midst of the rejoicing, Marseilles's eyes glanced over the other suitcase that Aaron had brought with him and her mood darkened. _That must be a travel case._ Divale noticed the change in an instant and asked, “What's wrong?”

Hanna merely gestured to the other suitcase and commented sadly, “I guess you've already packed your bags huh?”

“Only in case things fell through.” Aaron replied with a wink.

The response took the witch by surprise and she stammered, “T-That means you're n-not leaving?!”

“I never leave a job half done Lieutenant Marseilles, and I figured, what the hell. I've put up with you this far. No harm in enduring a few more weeks at the most.” the warlock explained with a smile. Then, a thought came over him and he quickly snapped his fingers. There wasn't enough time for anyone to notice the noise he'd just made before his diary sprang forth from the judges bench and flew into his hand, the impact sounding like a line drive smacking into a baseball glove. “Speaking of a few more weeks,” he remarked, taking up the suitcase and making his way towards the door, “I'm going to spend mine doing some serious R&R.”

“Where do you think you'll go?” Hanna inquired just as he got to the threshold.

Aaron opened the doors wide and looked over his right shoulder at them everyone in the room, “Goodbye sand and hello cherry blossoms, I'm going to Japan.” he announced.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron heads for Japan to meet up with Mio and Yoshika. While there, he encounters the pitfalls of having celebrity status, errors in communication, and a sore 'pride'.

_ **Chapter XXIII: The House Of The Rising Sun** _

_As I walked the path to my friend's house, I felt a certain kinship with the forest around me. The smell of cherry blossoms and sunshine, the sounds of birds and the wind whistling through the leaves and branches, the feeling of unknown earth at my feet with every step. It was different, but so familiar. Once I reached the top of the hill, I paused and turned around. Spread before me was a winding dirt road that led to the harbor, the blue waters of the sea twinkling in the sun like diamonds. Beholding all of this, my mind thought of only one thing: If this was the last thing I ever saw, I would die content. Come to think of it, I could die here._

Diary Entry July 11th 1944

The wind swept through Aaron's hair as he closed in on the Japanese island of Honshu where Yokohama harbor awaited. He was cloaked to avoid unnecessary run ins with the locals, but he knew once he landed that he had to end the spell and ask where Major Sakamoto was. From what he had gleaned from Eisenhower after he told him of the conspiracy three days ago after the trial, Mio was transferred to the Yokohama Flight Instruction School, a very cushy position considering it all. When he heard that, Divale thought that he didn't hear right, but it was all true. _Very strange of her to go over there. You'd think that she'd get sent over with those Japanese troops that came over to North Africa back in April. Maybe they got wind of her losing her powers? If that's the case, Minna might have had something to do with that. Must have called in a lot of favors to get her stationed there._ The thoughts didn't sit well with him and he shook his head free of them. The warlock was determined to not let such things drag him down and instead concentrated on meeting Mio and later Yoshika today. That was when he felt a tingling in his groin and he groaned. _Just my fucking luck. I have to piss._ Under normal circumstances, such a thing wouldn't be such a big deal, however, this was not a normal circumstance.

Keeping true to his word, Aaron made love to Ismenoth two more times in successive nights. On their way to Japan, they had trysts in New York City and Honolulu and both times he was utterly destroyed as were the rooms he stayed in. The demonness clearly enjoyed herself and Divale could only imagine the looks on those poor housekeepers faces when they opened the doors after he checked out. _Blood streaks on cracked walls, soiled sheets, slimy floors, gummed up shower and sink drains, and possibly one or two bed posts smelling not so nice. Good thing I left a substantial tip._ He winced as he zipped his fly open and whipped out his member. To commemorate the occasion, Ismenoth decided to not heal the damage done down there, saying that it was her version of a hickey. _It's to let people know that you're mine she said._ The chaffing was bad and there were open sores in spots. As urine dribbled out, the warlock roared in agony, “God damn it, that hurts! Why don't you fucking heal that up?!”

“Maybe if you say it in Japanese, I just might.” Ismenoth cooed from the lenses of the glasses he wore.

Aaron thought about it and muttered, “ちくしょう、痛い!それを癒したらどうだ (God damn it, that hurts! Why don't you fucking heal that up)?!” A cooling sensation spread over his groin area and he sighed in relief as he continued to piss. It didn't last two seconds before the anguish came roaring back with a vengeance. _You fucking cunt!_

“Don't look at me like that.” Ismenoth countered, wagging her finger in his face. “It's not my fault that you didn't make it clear on how long.” She chuckled as he finished up and tucked it back in his pants gingerly. “Besides, you need to pay the price for, how do you say, giving it your all.”

Aaron grimaced and ignored the innuendo. “So you think I can actually converse with someone down there with some success?” he asked.

“I think you can.” the fiend replied with a sly wink. “You always did have a gift for excellent tongue work.”

“I learned from the best.” Divale stated without mirth, shaking his head in annoyance.

“That's the spirit. Now get down there and introduce yourself to new virgin territory.” Ismenoth encouragingly quipped.

The warlock gave himself a tiny pinch to get the last few drops of urine out and carefully placed his member back in his pants, doing his best to not clip the sides or the zipper. He was mostly successful and zipped the fly back up. With that task done, he looked down at the world below him. Five miles were all separated him and the harbor of Yokohama. The water was a pale blue and almost fully clear to the point where you could see the bottom. Destroyers and a few cruisers were docked there, their crews taking on supplies and ammunition before departing once more to parts unknown. Hangers and barracks were lined up in neat rows, the paint jobs and walkways immaculately clean. Vehicles were being serviced in the open air motor pool, the mechanics going about their tasks with efficient precision. Far off in the distance towards the east was a small witch patrol or maybe a simple test flight judging from the very loose formation. Beyond the site was the city of Yokohama itself, a bustling metropolis that could come close to rivaling London in terms of population, but not from size. From what he learned from Ismenoth while she gave him a crash course in Japanese, the country was full of places like that. Having very little land to build on, the people had no choice but to go tall instead of wide. The harbor itself was heavily guarded, something that made Aaron very uneasy. _I see plenty of AA guns and machine guns nests scattered all around. The Neuroi haven't even come close to getting this far, yet they have enough defenses here to hold off a pretty determined attack. What are they protecting themselves from?_ Shrugging his shoulders, he dove hard, making his way towards what appeared to be some sort of parade ground in front of a large hanger. Once more, Aaron made doubly sure that his glasses were on his face. _Certainly don't want to cause a scene. Oh who the hell am I kidding? A man appearing out of nowhere vaguely smelling like the desert who's so big that he'd make them look like pygmies wouldn't also do the trick? I just hope I don't get shot at or detained. Now, is there anyone around that I could..._

Suddenly, the hanger doors opened a crack and out marched a group of witches in full combat gear, their Strikers shining in the sun. Divale nodded, silently thanking and cursing God for such a welcoming committee and veered off to the side of them, making sure that when he landed and decloaked that they wouldn't immediately notice him. Breathing slowly, his boots touched down on the ground and he killed the spell moments before he tucked in his wings and composed himself. “こんにちは。 (Hello).” he casually mentioned. The sudden statement made most of them scream in fear, dropping their weapons to the ground with a clatter. However, the senior members trained their guns on him with wary eyes. The warlock didn't blame them one bit. While he was in full uniform and had a large backpack on his back that contained all his guns, clothes, and personal effects, he seemingly appeared out of nowhere and triggered no alarms.

“あなたは誰で、ここで何をしていますか (Who are you and what are you doing here)?” a very young sergeant demanded, pulling the bolt back to her 20mm cannon.

“第31回JFSアフリカのアーロン・ディベール中尉です。私は休暇でここにいます。皆さん驚きをお詫び申し上げます (I'm Lieutenant Aaron Divale of the 31st JFS Afrika. I'm here on leave, nothing more. I apologize for startling you all).” Aaron replied calmly, making sure that his hands were far away from his person.

At the mention of his name, the witch slightly lowered her cannon and fished around in her back pocket. After a quick second, she pulled out what looked like a small picture and glanced repeatedly up at him and back down at it. Her eyes widened as a thought manifested in her mind. “あなたはアーロン・ディベール中尉ですか?第501回JFWの一員だった時、イギリスで講師の坂本ミオ少佐と一緒に戦ったウォーロック (You are Lieutenant Aaron Divale? The warlock that fought alongside my instructor Major Mio Sakamoto in England when she was part of the 501st JFW)?” she asked, scarcely able to believe it.

Divale slowly reached up with his right hand and removed his glasses, letting the whole group see his true eyes shining as bright as the sun above them all. “私です (That's me).” he remarked with a smile, knowing that he just got a get out of jail free card. _Maybe being a celebrity isn't such a bad thing._

The witch sergeant put away her weapon and gestured for everyone else to do the same. “ひどく残念なディベール中尉。もし私たちがあなたが誰であるか知っていたら、あなたをきちんと歓迎していたでしょう (Terribly sorry Lieutenant Divale. If we had any idea who you were, would've welcomed you properly).”

“大丈夫です。あなたは適切に反応しました。私は自分でそう言うかもしれない場合は、細かい仕事 (It's alright. You reacted properly. Fine job if I might say so myself).” Aaron assured, placing his spectacles back on. “坂本少佐の学生だとおお前は言ったの (You did say that you were a student of Major Sakamoto)?”

“はい (Yes).” the witch acknowledged. “私の名前は服部志塚軍曹です (My name is Sergeant Hattori Shizuka).” Her brow furrowed and she inquired, “専攻とどのようなビジネスをしていますか (What business do you have with the major)?”

“彼女と私は古い友人です。彼女がどこにいるか教えてもらえますか?私は彼女をファックしたいと思います (She and I are old friends. Is it possible that you could tell me where she is? I'd like to fuck her).” Aaron responded. Hattori's mouth opened wide in shock and, for a brief moment, the warlock had no clue as to why. _That's strange. I'm sure I said that right, didn't I? Wait... Oh shit!_ “私は彼女に会うつもりだった!彼女に会おう!深く謝罪 しずか軍曹!私はあなたの言語の初歩的な理解しか持っていません!そんな下品さを許してください (I meant meet her! Meet her! Deepest apologies Sergeant Shizuka! I have only a rudimentary understanding of your language! Forgive me such such vulgarity)!” he blurted out, bowing to the point where he nearly fell over in his haste.

Several of the pilots laughed, but Hattori shook her head disapprovingly. “私はあなたの謝罪中尉を受け入れますが、あなたはもっと勉強する必要があります。もし彼女がまだここにいたら、そのような誤解はあなたをお湯に入れたかもしれない (I'll accept your apology lieutenant, but you should study more. Such a misunderstanding could've landed you in hot water if she was still here).” he informed.

Now it was Divale's turn to be surprised. _Was still here? She's gone for the day? How can that be?_ “メジャーはここにいませんか?なぜでしょうか (The major isn't here? Why)?” he queried as he rose back to his full height.

Sergeant Shizuka's face darkened and she replied, “彼女は昨日辞職し、その理由を誰にも話していません (She resigned yesterday and hasn't told anyone why).”

 _Resigned?! Well, come to think of it, this sort of job isn't her. Mio would want to be back in the air again._ “彼女がどこで見つかるか分かりますか (Any idea where she could be found)?” he asked.

“手がかりはありません (No clue).” Shizuka replied. “私はあなたを助けることができればいいのに (I wish I could help you).”

 _She might not know, but Yoshika might._ “宮藤良香は?彼女がどこに住んでいるか知っていますか (What about Yoshika Miyafuji? Do you know where she lives(?” Aaron asked.

“宮藤義香軍曹(Sergeant Yoshika Miyafuji)?!” the witch repeated, her eyes flashing with glee. “もちろんします！彼女は私のアイドルです (Of course I do! She's my idol)!” She turned her body to the left and pointed with her right hand northwest. “正門を出ると、街の外に出る主要道路をたどります。横浜を見下ろす丘の頂上を越えて右に進むまで、その上にとどまります。それは曲がりくねっていますが、あなたは最終的に彼女の家に来るでしょう。あなたは彼らのメールボックスを見たときに適切な場所を持っていることを知っているでしょう (When you go out the main gate, you'll follow the main road leading out of the city. Stay on it until you go over the top of the hill overlooking Yokohama and then veer right. It's winding, but you'll eventually come up on her house. You'll know you have the right place when you see their mailbox).” she explained.

“静香軍曹、ありがとうございました (Thank you very much Sergeant Shizuka_.” the warlock stated, bowing in thanks. “私はあなたに感謝する方法を知らない (I don't know how to thank you).”

“まぁ (Well),” the witch started to say, blushing a little, “あなたができる1つの方法があります (there is one way you could).” She strode up to him and showed him the picture. It was of him in the skies of North Africa, one of Pottgen's many photos, holding his machine gun, wings unfurled, shell casings scattered around, mouth open wide, possibly giving orders or screaming a war cry. He didn't recall the battle, but he could see that wherever and whenever it was, it had been hard fought. The fatigue was there, but it was worn well and made him look almost heroic, like an angel of battle ready to rain diving justice on his foes. “これに署名してもらえますか。それは私にとって大きな意味を持つだろう (Could I trouble you to sign this for me? It would mean a lot to me).”

“全く軍曹に問題はない。私は光栄です (No trouble at all sergeant. I would be honored).” Aaron stated. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the pen that he received at Gibraltar. With a flourish, he signed the photograph and even added 'For Sergeant Hattori Shizuka, July 11th 1944' at the end. The look on Hattori's face was priceless and as she looked at the signature, Divale thought for a moment that she'd break down and cry from joy. Instead, she placed it reverently back into her pocket and bowed in silent thanks. He returned the gesture and the pen back to his back pants pocket. “静香軍曹の世話をしなさい。あなたの一日の楽しい残りの部分を持っています (Take care Sergeant Shizuka. Have a pleasant rest of your day).”

“待つ (Hold on).” the witch called out just as the warlock turned to go. “いつかまたお会いしましょうか (Will I see you again someday)?”

Aaron looked over his right shoulder and answered, “さあどうですかね (You never know).”

Yoshika Miyafuji dug into the soil once more with her gardening spade, making another hole to plant the last of the asagao flowers that Michiko's grandfather had brought up from their farm. He didn't manage to sell them in the city and was going to simply use them as compost, but Michiko suggested that maybe Yoshika's family might want them. After agreeing to the proposal, he allowed her to take them to the Miyafuji's personally. The moment that Yoshika saw them, she begged her mother to allow her to plant them in front yard. She was right by her side now, knees in the dirt and cradling the delicate flowers in her hands. They were a beautiful sky blue with white lines every quarter inch or so with thin stalks and a yellow white center. “That should be deep enough right Michiko?” she asked her cousin.

“That's perfect.” Michiko answered with a nod. She then leaned over and placed the flower root first into the hole that Yoshika had made. Once it reached the bottom, the two scooped the dirt back into the hole with their bare hands, not caring a wit that they were going to get dirty. “And that is that, all five asagao's planted successfully.” Michiko announced, getting back up to her feet.

“Didn't take that long at all.” Yoshika admitted, looking at the sun in the sky. The cherry trees nearby made it hard to see, but judging from where it was, not even a half hour had passed. Suddenly, the wind picked up slight and sent her hair all over the place, the air heavy with the scent of the flowers. She breathed in deep and sighed with pleasure. _It's so nice being back home with my family and the clinic once again. True, I miss my old friends in the 501_ _st_ _, but home is where I belong. I honestly don't think I'll come back if they reunited, but I'll keep in touch with them all. Wonder how they're all doing? All probably back home. Where would Aaron be?_

“Yoshika?” Michiko asked with concern in her voice. “Are you okay?”

Miyafuji shook her head clear and answered, “Oh, I'm fine. Just zoned out for a moment.”

“It looked like you were thinking about something.” her cousin pressed. “What was it?”

“Just wondering how my friends are doing. Nothing too bad.” Yoshika explained.

“You must miss them huh?” Michiko pondered.

Yoshika nodded. “I do.” she replied. She then looked over at her cousin and noticed that she was a bit afraid. Understanding where that fear came from, she clapped Michiko on the shoulders and stated, “Don't worry about it. I'm not going to go back.”

“Even if I said please?” a male voice inquired. The noise startled the young women who yelped in unison. Miyafuji instantly searched for where that sound came from. _Who would sneak up on a pair of girls that way? Can't be someone seeking treatment. Must be a pervert._ Panning her head from side to side, Yoshika could not readily determine where the person was and it made her uneasy.

“Where are you?” she called out. “Show yourself.”

“Very well.” the voice answered. A loud snap of the fingers later and suddenly, out of nowhere, the form of Aaron Divale appeared before the small walkway that led to the clinic and house proper. He was a lot different from when she last saw him, especially in terms of skin tone. Wherever he was recently, he tanned up considerably to the point where he could pass for levantine. His dark hair was long and loose, coming down to the mid point of his back. The two silver bars of a lieutenant twinkled brightly in the sun, a stark contrast to his sand colored uniform. Aaron's true eyes were hidden by a pair of glasses, but the emotion on his face wasn't false. He was smiling from ear to ear. “Been a long time Yoshika. Good to see you.”

Miyafuji couldn't believe it. She scarcely breathed. She dared not blink lest the spell of the mirage went away forever. “Aaron?” she squeaked out, holding her hands to her mouth. “My God is that really you? You look so different.”

“I assure you old friend that I'm still me.” Divale assured. He then opened his arms out wide and simply stood there. It didn't take long for Yoshika to find her legs and she ran up to him and gave him a great big bear hug, laughing out of sheer joy. The pair embraced for a good few seconds, chuckling all the while. While hugging the witch, the warlock looked over the dwelling. It was small and made entirely of wood, probably from the forest that surrounded it. A tiny mailbox on a wooden pole with there last name carved into the side preceded a small walkway that led to the front yard. A garden was off to the right of the building, the freshly planted morning glories swaying gently in the breeze, moving in tandem with some fresh herbs and vegetables. Two steps led to a door sealed with a thin layer of what looked to be paper or plaster. The walls were straight as arrows and the roof had slight curve to it the higher it went. A puzzled look came over Aaron's face as he noticed that the house was quite large. _Pretty big space for just her, her mother, and grandmother. Must double as something. Wait a second... didn't she say that her family ran a clinic? Is this it?_ Movement caught his eyes and he whipped his head as another Japanese woman came into view. She was roughly Yoshika's height and age and even dressed the same way, but her hair was much longer and darker and she was clearly scared of him. He let go of Yoshika and addressed her. “若い女性を怖がってはいけません。私は害がないことを意味します (Don't be frightened young lady. I mean no harm).”

Miyafuji gasped as her native tongue left Aaron's throat. “日本語が話せんですか )You speak Japanese)?!” she gasped. “信じられません (That's incredible)!”

“何とやっていけるのに十分なだけ (Only enough to get by).” Divale sheepishly admitted, feeling kind of embarrassed.

Yoshika then looked at Michiko and introduced him. “美智子、こちらはアーロン・ディベールです。私たちはイギリスに戻って一緒に飛びました。大丈夫です。彼は友達だ (Michiko, this is Aaron Divale. We flew together back in England. It's alright. He's a friend).” She the regarded Aaron and commented, “これは私のいとこの美智子です (This is my cousin Michiko).”

“魅了 (Charmed).” Aaron replied with a respectful bow.

That broke the ice with Michiko and she walked towards him, looking at him with a mixture of awe and wonder with every step. “あなたは大きいです (You're big).” she commented when she got close enough. “どうしてそんなに背が高くなりましたか (How did you get so tall)?”

“私はタフィープーラーに落ちた (I fell into a taffy puller).” Divale deadpanned. At first, no one got the joke, but when it finally dawned on the two women, they erupted into peals of laughter. “だから、これはあなたの家です。美しいです (So this is your home. It's beautiful).” he added after a bit.

“ありがとうございました (Thank you).” Yoshika replied. “では、日本アーロンに来た理由は何ですか?あなたのユニットは解散しましたか (So what brings you to Japan Aaron? Did your unit get disbanded)?”

“私は休暇中で、私は立ち寄って訪問する必要があると思った。日本に行ったことが一度もないし、この国は素晴らしいと言わね。私にとってとても新しい、まだ同時にとてもよく知られています。今の場所の代わりにここに駐在していたらいいのに (I'm on leave and I thought that I should stop by and visit. Never been to Japan before and I have to say that this country is amazing. So new to me, yet so familiar at the same time. Wish I was stationed here instead of where I am now).” the warlock responded. “ところで、坂本少佐がどこにいるか知っていますか (Speaking of where, do you happen to know where I can find Major Sakamoto)?”

“彼女は今横浜の海軍基地にいるはずだ。少しで、彼女は夕食のために立ち寄るつもりです (She should be at the naval base in Yokohama right now. In a little bit, she's going to stop on by for dinner).” Miyafuji pointed out. A thought then came over her and her face went ecstatic. “あなたは私たちに参加する必要があります!私たちは皆、イングランド以来何が起こったのかに追いつくことができました (You should join us! We could all catch up on what has happened since England)!

 _So she doesn't know she left? Very strange. What in the world are you up to major?_ “私はあなたのお母さんと祖母を侵入したり忙しくしたくありません (I wouldn't want to intrude or busy your mother and grandmother any).” Aaron remarked, politely offering his excuse.

Yoshika would have none of it and grabbed him by his right hand. “大丈夫アーロンだ本当にです。患者が入ってくる場合に備えて、私たちは常に少し余分にします。どうぞお入りください。そうでなければ、あなたはそれを後悔するでしょう (It's fine Aaron. Really it is. We always make a bit extra in case a patient comes in. Please come in. You will regret it if you don't).” she countered.

“彼女が正しいです (She's right).” Michiko quipped, taking a hold of his left hand. “宮富士は周りに最高の納豆を作ります。あなたは私たちに参加する必要があります (The Miyafuji's make the best natto around. You must join us).”

Surrounded and with his hands now literally in a bind, Divale relented and nodded. “非常にいいです。今夜は皆さんご一緒に夕食を食べます (Very well. I will join you all for dinner tonight).” The ladies cheered and led him up the walkway to the door. As they got closer, the warlock furrowed his brow. _There's no door knob. How on earth do you get inside?_

“母！祖母 (Mother! Grandmother)!” Yoshika called out as she reached for the door. Aaron watched her take it by the side and slid it open. _Ah.. that's how. Very interesting._ “私たちは訪問者を持っています (We have a visitor)!” Upon opening the door, they all stopped just before a small step with a white line across it leading into the house proper and took off their shoes. Not wanting to offend, Divale copied what they did, taking off his boots and placing them off to the side so that no one would trip on them.

“誰かの家に入る前に、いつも靴を脱ぐのが習慣です (It's customary to always take your shoes off before entering anyone's home).” Michiko explained. “私たちは、日本の価値の清潔さと誰かの家に入る前にあなたの靴を削除すると、あなたが内部の汚れを追跡することがないようにそれを作ります。それは所有者に対する敬意のしるしです (We Japanese value cleanliness and removing your shoes before entering someone's home makes it so you don't track dirt inside. It's a sign of respect for the owner).”

“それと床をきれいにするのは難しいかもしれません (That and the floors might be hard to clean).” Aaron deduced.

“右 (Right).” Michiko replied with smile. “あなたはすぐにキャッチします (You catch on quick).” Once that was done, the trio walked up the small step. Looking around, Aaron was amazed at how small and compact the place was. _From the outside, it looked enormous. Very odd. Do the Japanese favor this sort of living style?_ He resisted the urge to grumble and complain about it, but thought better of it and endured, hunching over like an old man on his last legs as they proceeded down the hallway. They passed several closed doors and Divale assumed that they led to spare rooms or other places within the dwelling. _Probably for patients. Are they occupied? No, they can't be. She would not have called out that loudly if there were._

“吉香と言うお客さん (A visitor you say Yoshika)?” a woman's voice rang out from somewhere close by. “どなたですか (Who is it)?”

“彼を台所のドアに連れて行きます (I'll bring him to the kitchen door).” Miyafuji answered, getting ready to reach for one that they had just come up to.

“彼 (Him)?!” another woman's voice declared, this one much older sounding than the last one. Before anyone else could react, the door slid open faster than a well oiled bolt action and at the threshold stood an old woman, possibly in her late sixties. She wore a light purple kimono that contrasted sharply with her short gray hair that looked very much like Yoshika's hairstyle. Though short of stature, the wizened lady looked up at Aaron's face with no fear whatsoever, eyeing him with her dark brown eyes. “これはこれは (Well, well),” she began, placing her hands behind her back, “あなたは確かに大きな男の子です。あなたの名前の若者は何ですか、あなたは彼女を求愛しているかのように私の孫娘の手を握って何をしていますか (you most certainly are a big boy. What's your name young man and what are you doing holding my granddaughter's hand as if you're courting her)?”

Divale's face went beat red from embarrassment and he replied, “私はアーロン・ディベール中尉です。あなたの孫娘の義香と私が奉仕しました (I'm Lieutenant Aaron Divale. Your granddaughter Yoshika and I served)-”

“アーロン・ディベール!?ウォーロック?!彼はここにいます (Aaron Divale!? The warlock?! He's here)?!” the other voice cried out once more, interrupting Aaron's explanation. Another door down the hallway opened up and out popped the head of a younger woman, though she did look like she was in her mid to late thirties. Her hair was long and worn in a ponytail, the shade much like Miyafuji's. Unlike the other woman, she wore a long white doctors coat with a red sash tied around the neck. Her dark brown eyes were alight with shock and delight and the warlock instantly knew why. _Uh oh. That's the same look that Hattori had when she told me where Yoshika lived. That's the look of a fan. Maybe this celebrity thing is not so great after all._ “ああ、良い天国、私は彼のような誰かがここにいることを知っていたら、私は家と診療所にもっとまっすぐにしてもらうだろう (Oh good heavens, if I knew someone like him were here, I'd have the house and clinic straightened out more).” she stated. She then bowed and added, “私の深い謝罪アーロン・ディベール中尉 (My deepest apologies Lieutenant Aaron Divale).”

“さやか (Sayaka)!” the old woman scolded. “That was very rude of you to interrupt his talking.” She then looked over at Aaron and bowed, “アーロン・ディベール中尉に深い謝罪 (Deepest apologies Lieutenant Aaron Divale).”

At this point, Divale didn't know what he should do. He was a stranger in a strange land and didn't want to offend if he could help it. Deciding to play it safe, he politely waved it off and replied, “大丈夫です。私のアカウントで謝罪する必要はありません。だから、私はあなたがそれぞれ義香の祖母と母親だと思いますか (It's alright. No need to apologize on my account. So I take it that you're Yoshika's grandmother and mother respectively)?”

“そうです (Correct).” the old woman replied. “私の名前はヨシコです。クリニックを経営している娘のサヤカがいること。私は日々を手伝うためにここにいます (My name is Yoshiko. That there is my daughter Sayaka who runs the clinic. I'm here to help with the day to day).”

“最終的に皆をファックするのは喜びです (It's a pleasure to finally fuck you all).” Divale responded. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew that he made another mistake. _Shit! Shit! Shit! I did it again!_ “満たす！私は会うつもりだった!本当に大変申し訳ございません!許してください (Meet! I meant meet! I'm truly terribly sorry! Please forgive me)!” he blundered out while bowing hard. Unfortunately, in his haste to apologize, he threw himself off balance and the warlock went past the point of no return and fell flat on his face with a crash. Such a sight triggered a whole rash of responses from the Miyafuji clan. Michiko placed her hands over her mouth, Yoshika went red from embarrassment, Sayaka gave an odd smile, and Yoshiko was laughing hard.

“祖母 (Grandmother)!” Yoshika called out, kneeling down to see if Aaron was okay. “どうして笑ってるの (Why are you laughing)?!”

Yoshiko stifled her chuckling long enough for her to explain, “ほとんどの外国人が私たちの言語を学ぶときに犯す一般的な間違いです。漢字は非常によく似ています。彼は本当にそれで何の意味もありませんでした。しかし、彼のために、彼はそれを邪魔するまで、当分の間英語に固執したいと思うかもしれません (It's a common mistake most foreigners make when learning our language. The kanji is very similar. He truly meant nothing by it. Though, for his sake, I think he may want to stick to English for the time being until he can get that out of the way).”

“Sounds like good advice to me.” Aaron stated from the floor, his voice muffled by the tatami. He then rose up from the floor and Yoshika checked to see if his face was alright.

“Looks like you didn't get hurt at all.” Miyafuji remarked. “Surprised you didn't go through the floor.”

“I've lost some weight.” Divale retorted with grin.

“You must be tired from your long journey.” Sayaka pointed out. She gestured to the room she came out of and offered, “Please do come into the living room and rest your weary legs. I just brewed some fresh tea.”

“I would be honored.” the warlock replied, smiling on the outside and shaking with trepidation on the inside. _She's still got that look. Not good. I'm walking into a bear trap. I just know it._

“And while you two have tea, I'll get back to getting supper all prepped for tonight.” Yoshiko announced. She regarded Yoshika and Michiko and asked, “Would you young ladies like to help me?”

“Of course!” they replied in unison. Within seconds, Aaron found himself all alone in the hallway with Yoshika's mother who stood near the threshold into the living room. _I must be brave. God please be mericful._ Summoning his courage and hiding his nervousness well, he calmly walked past Sayaka and stepped into the living room. The ceiling was slightly higher, allowing him to rise to his full height, though the top of his head nearly grazed the wood. There were some pictures hanging on the wall depicting waterfalls and preening birds and vast sweeping landscapes shrouded in fog like patterns. In the center of the room was a low table with four cushions tucked underneath, steaming slowly billowing out the spout of a tea pot that was surrounded by small porcelain cups. Off in the upper right hand corner was a small chest of drawers, the wood old yet not faded. Near that was what looked to be a closet. _Where are the chairs?_

“Please, take a cushion and sit anywhere you like.” Sayaka offered with a slight bow.

 _Ah, so they sit on these cushions instead of chairs. I see now._ Aaron reciprocated the gesture and did as he was told, picking up one of the cushions, aligning it so that it wouldn't cause too much pressure on his still sore genitals, and sat down on the left side of the table crossing his legs like an Indian. “You have a very beautiful house Miss Miyafuji.” he commented as Sayaka sat down at the head of the table to his left.

“Thank you very much.” Yoshika's mother replied. Then, she leaned in and added, “But please, call me Sayaka.”

It was true the warlock didn't know much about Japanese culture, but he did know basic etiquette. _I'm a complete stranger and she wants to me call her by her first name? Odd, but I don't think there's anything wrong here. Guess it wouldn't hurt, but..._ “Only if you call me Aaron, Sayaka.” he boldly stated.

Sayaka immediately blushed a tad and nodded. “Of course Aaron.” She picked up the tea pot and poured tea into two of the cups. “Here you are.” she stated, gesturing to one of the cups. Divale smiled in silent thanks and took the cup carefully in his hands. It was comically small, so much so that the tiny cup looked like it was disappearing into his flesh. The two took sips of their tea and sighed as the warm liquid coursed through them. The warlock's taste buds went crazy as his tongue picked out so many layers of flavors. It astounded him. _What flavor! This is totally unlike any tea I've ever had before! What is it!?_

“What kind of tea is this? The flavor is amazing.” Aaron asked.

“It's sencha, a green tea. We harvest the leaves in the late spring and carefully roast them dry. Unlike the Europeans, we don't grind the leaves, we keep them intact as to preserve the flavor.” Sayaka answered. “If you'd like, I would be honored if you decided to take some with you.”

“I would appreciate that. Thank you.” Divale replied. He looked around the living room once again. “So this is the clinic that Yoshika spoke of.”

“It's been in the family for three generations. My great grandfather built it long ago and we lived and worked here ever since.” Sayaka illuminated. “Witch blood runs like water in the family. My mother and myself are witches as well and we use our magic to help those who come here.”

 _They can still use their magic at such an age? Incredible. Must be a very strong lineage. Makes sense why Yoshika's healing powers are so powerful._ “So you all are doctors?” Aaron inquired, taking another sip of tea.

“Every one of us.” Sayaka proudly proclaimed holding up her right hand. “You can tell by the hands.” She then paused and looked at Aaron's hands. “You seem to have the hands of a doctor yourself Aaron. Are you a doctor too?” she queried.

“I'm trained, but I'm not truly a doctor.” the warlock replied. “Most of my experience came from the front lines you see.”

“Just like my mother then.” Sayaka mused.

“Yoshiko was a soldier?” Aaron asked, cocking his eyebrows.

“Served in The Great War for two years. My mother was the best witch nurse in the army. Her powers were so great that she could heal a man's injuries in an instant. She even treated one hundred men in one go without taking a rest. Scared me half to death most days, thinking that she'd might not come back home, that she'd either work herself to death or stay with the army. When she did come home, she vowed to never again join the army as a nurse and demanded that I do the same.” Sayaka answered.

“Did she ever say why?” Divale inquired, genuinely curious.

“It was not my place to question my mother.” Sayaka replied, taking a sip of her tea.

The response made Aaron think about something that he knew was a risk, but he had to. “It must've been hard when your daughter and husband got involved in the war.” he uttered.

“When my husband died, we were all devastated. Yoshika took it the worst. It was hard for many years and even now she sometimes cries in her sleep. Then Major Sakamoto came and filled her head with silly ideas of patriotism and honor, asking her to join the war effort. Made us all so very angry. Later that day, just after she left actually, a letter from her father came in the mail in his own writing. There were two pictures in there: one of a cliff of white and the other a group photo with my husband standing beside the major.” Sayaka stated. She gripped the tea cup tightly in her hands. “I truly hope she's learned her lesson, that she'll stay her with us at the clinic.”

“Me too.” Divale agreed. His answer made Yoshika's mother look at him funny so he further explained, “I'll never know what it's like to have a child go off to war, but I do know the pain and sorrow that comes when they see the officer get out of his car and hand them that notice. She loves you both very much and you both love her. Yoshika deserves to be here with you all.”

Sayaka put the tea cup down and slid closer to him, reaching out with her hands. _What is she doing?_ “If she does decide leave for war again, will you protect her like you did at Dover?” she asked in a serious tone, placing her hands on his chest.

Aaron's eyes flashed at the mention of that place. “She told about what happened there?” he countered.

“That she did. She's told me and my mother everything about you. In fact, that reminds me...” Sayaka answered. Suddenly she got up in a flash and walked over to the drawers, opening the top left section. After rummaging around for a few seconds, she pulled out a folder and closed the drawer. She sat down close to him again, this time taking the cushion with her, and handed him the folder. “Yoshika collected every article and picture in the paper she could find and showed us who you were.” she illuminated as the warlock opened the folder. When he did so, a torrent of newspaper clippings and pictures about him spilled out. Aaron's eyes bulged as the sheer amount of paper accumulated faster than a national debt. _Holy shit! This is... everything! Literally everything on me from England and North Africa! Hell, I don't even remember that picture being taken of me. Oh, wait... now I do._

“Wow.” Aaron muttered under his breath. “How did she come by all this?”

“Her old friends in the 501st send them to her by mail.” Sayaka replied. She watched the warlock as he looked through it all in amazement for a few moments before she gave him an unexpected hug. It took Aaron completely by surprise and he froze, not knowing what to do. _Oh this is bad. If Yoshika were to walk in right now, it'll be like Shirley when she saw Lucchini's face in my crotch._ Looking up at him, staring deep into his glowing eyes, she stated, “I owe you such a debt of gratitude for saving my daughter's life.”

“O-Oh, it was n-nothing Sayaka.” Divale nervously stammered.

“Not to me it wasn't.” Yoshika's mother replied softly. “Me and Yoshika will repay you for your kindness later this evening.” The comment made Aaron gasp, but not from shock. Visions of his exploits at Bordeaux played out in his head and they in turn played out in his other one. He winced as his member unconsciously swelled, causing it to rub against the fabric of his trousers. Sayaka immediately released him and she hastily inquired, “Are you alright Aaron? What's wrong?”

 _How do I explain this one?_ “Just a minor complaint that comes up every now and again.” he sheepishly answered, hoping against hope that it would end the matter.

The ploy failed miserably and Sayaka pressed, “It can't be that minor if it's causing you pain. Are you ill?”

“No, I'm not sick at all.” Aaron answered.

“Then you're injured then.” the doctor deduced.

“Y-Yes. I-I mean no. Well, k-kind of-” Divale replied, flubbing his words. _Ah shit! This is where she figures it out._

Sayaka placed her right hand under her chin and thought for a brief moment before it finally dawned on her. She smiled and chuckled. “So the problem is down there I see.” she stated, gesturing with her head towards his crotch. “That's perfectly fine. Most men don't like talking about that area, but it's vitally important to take care of it and how can a doctor like me expect to treat men who aren't honest with their health?”

 _She's got a very good point, but this isn't just another doctor, this is Yoshika's mother._ “I believe you Sayaka, but I just think that given the circumstances that I could hold off until a better time.” he countered politely.

“Oh nonsense. There's no better time than the present.” Sayaka retorted. She reached into her right front coat pocket and pulled out a single plastic glove, putting it on her right hand as quick as a flash and snapped it secure. “Please remove your pants Aaron.”

“Sayaka I really don't think this is a good i-” Divale started to calmly protest, but the good doctor flew herself at him. He didn't have a chance to react as he fell backwards, but the warlock did have enough sense to tense his muscles so that the back of his head wouldn't crash into the floor and make noise. Meanwhile Sayaka straddled his upper legs, her right hand firmly grabbing the front of his pants, looking down at him with those brown eyes of hers.

“Relax Aaron.” she cooed, undoing the button to his pants. “I'm a doctor. You'll be perfectly fine in my care.” All the response Aaron gave was a deep gulp, but he stayed absolutely still as Sayaka unzipped his fly and reached in. He felt her fingers wrap around it and he gritted his teeth, expecting agony to race up and down his member at any second. Strangely enough, nothing of the sort happened as Sayaka started to fish it out. “Now let's see what the issue might be.” she mused as she whipped it fully into view. Divale went red with shame as his sore member greeted the world. It was swollen and red, patches of the skin rubbed raw to the point where new skin glistened, the moisture not yet fully gone. The doctor maneuvered it around to get at all the angles and asked, “If you don't me asking, how often do you masturbate?”

“Not very.” the warlock admitted, his face getting red. “Maybe once or twice a week.”

“And how long do those intimate sessions last?” Sayaka inquired, mentally shelving the knowledge away for another time.

“Ten maybe fifteen minutes.” Aaron answered.

“Do you use a lot of friction?” Yoshika's mother pressed.

“I guess so.” Divale figured, his tone clearly indicating that he didn't really know.

Sayaka thought about it and ruled out masturbation as the cause of his condition. “Are you sexually active? And if so, did you have a partner recently?”

 _Kill me now._ “Yes and... yes.” the warlock reluctantly acknowledged.

“And were you a bit, shall we say, aggressive?” Sayaka queried with a cocked eyebrow.

“I-It was a b-bit of both.” Aaron stammered.

 _Ah, to be young and naive again._ “Well that's the issue then.” Sayaka declared. “There's nothing wrong in making love, but you should be more careful in how long and how many times you go. While it is true that if you don't use it you lose it, using it too much like what you did is just as bad. I prescribe a quick bit of healing magic and some self control.” She then hovered her other hand over his member and concentrated. Soon, a blue aura of magic appeared, enveloping the organ. “Now, please be advised that it's perfectly fine to get an erection during this process so don't be embarrassed if you do.” she announced. _Oh this is just great. Here I am, Mister Big and Bad pinned down by the mother of one of my friends like some unruly patient with her hand around my cock in their own house with the distinct possibility that said friend could come walking through that door. Fuck my life._ Then he felt the aetheric energy and he stifled a yelp as a sensation very akin to pleasure made his heart race a tad. _Think about something bad. Think of something sexually unappealing. Winston Churchill naked on a cold day! Winston Churchill naked on a cold day!_ “And there we go.” Sayaka uttered in a way that sounded like she was addressing a child that was in anguish. Divale took a gander and saw to his amazement and embarrassment that his member was good as new, but fully engorged. “Judging by that response, I think you feel much better.” she added with a smile.

Divale opened his mouth to say something, but it was at that moment that the worst case scenario that he thought of came to pass. The sliding door opened and in stepped Yoshika with a wooden ladle that had a small crack in it. “Just to let you know mother that we-” she rambled until the words died in her throat upon witnessing her mother straddling Aaron and holding his erection in her right hand. For a long moment, nothing happened, the shock value of the scene paralyzing her. Then, her head tilted downwards and Miyafuji glared at Aaron. “Have a situation.” she added menacingly, clenching the broken ladle in her hands.

“I can explain!” Aaron hastily pointed out.

“Aaron had a small injury to his penis and I merely helped him with it.” Sayaka explained with a calmness that took the warlock completely by surprise.

“Oh!” Yoshika exclaimed, dropping the ladle to the floor and throwing her hands behind her back. “I'm sorry!” _And to think that I thought Aaron was trying to seduce my mother._ She looked back down at the warlock and added, “You should've said something when you got here Aaron. I could've treated that easily. I mean, it's not like I haven't seen it before.”

Now it was Sayaka's turn to look at Divale in a way that made him really nervous. “Oh really?” she inquired, staring a hole through him.

“I can explain!” the warlock blathered.

Major Mio Sakamoto closed her eyes and breathed in the air as Hijikata drove the jeep down the long winding dirt road to the Miyafuji clinic. The suspension took the uneven ground in stride, barely rocking the chassis at all, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust behind them. “Try to slow down warrant officer.” she ordered, not even opening her eyes. “We wouldn't want to inconvenience someone that could be behind us.”

“Understood Major Sakamoto.” Keisuke replied, obeying the order without complaint or question. As he did so, Mio looked at him and found it hard to not smile. _The fact that you're still here by my side Hijikata is a miracle. I'll always be thankful for Aaron making you whole again. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here. Wonder how the master sergeant is doing? Haven't had any word from the others for some time. Of course, I was very busy at the naval base and other things._ The last thought made her look back down at the bamboo case that rested by her left side. It contained her old sword, her Masakuni, the very first one she received from her old teacher Kitagou Fumika. She carried that blade in every battle she fought after her graduation up until her resignation from the Yokohama Flight Instruction School. It pained her to leave, but deep down, the position was not who she really was. _I'm a warrior. I'm a witch. I belong in the air._ To that end, long before she went ahead and quit her instructor position, she had a long conversation with her old friend and fellow witch Kuroe Ayaka regarding how to use magic through a blade. Delving into numerous texts concerning the subject that Ayaka had in her possession, the major stumbled upon one that detailed the Reppuzan technique, an attack so powerful that it could kill a Neuroi with a single blow. However, in order to fully learn it, Sakamoto had to uncover the secrets behind controlling Unyou, the ability to focus the aetheric energies at the tip of the blade. That talk and the rigorous training that followed gave Mio hope that she could still fight the Neuroi. The night before she resigned, she handcrafted her new blade, Reppumaru, the katana that now rested in her scabbard. Despite that, she still couldn't part with her old one and carried it around in the case.

“We're coming up on the Miyafuji clinic right now Major Sakamoto.” Hijikata announced.

“Excellent Hijikata.” she stated. After looking down at her timepiece she added proudly, “And you even shaved off two minutes after the last time you got there. I'm proud of you warrant officer.”

“Thank you major.” Keisuke replied with a smile. As he neared the clinic, he slowed down to a complete stop slightly askew of the walkway that led to the building proper. After shutting off the engine and putting the jeep in park, the young man exited the vehicle, went around to the front passenger side door, and politely opened it. Mio got out, taking the bamboo case with her in her left hand. Her eyes noticed the newly planted asagoes in the garden. _My favorite flower. You shouldn't have Yoshika._ She also saw something that made her pause. Near the threshold of the clinic was a pair of gigantic footprints from what she knew were the soles of combat boots. _A soldier in the clinic? That's unusual. Any wounded would be sent to a military hospital. This warrants investigation._ Sakamoto regarded Hijikata and silently signaled for him to be cautious. Her man nodded in approval and went forwards slowly, his right hand never far from his sidearm. As for the witch, she too advanced carefully, watching the windows and listening for footsteps. Keisuke got to the door first and called out, “Hello? This is Warrant Officer Hijikata Keisuke with Major Mio Sakamoto. Is anyone home?”

“Yes, do come in.” Yoshiko's voice answered from within. “We've been expecting you.” The response relaxed the pair and Hijikata politely slid the door open. Once inside, Mio looked at the shoes and noticed the boots. Her brow furrowed as something about them looked familiar. _Why do I have the feeling that I've seen those before?_ Glancing over at the warrant officer, he too had a look about him that made it clear that he might have as well. Regardless, the two politely took off their shoes and walked into the house proper. Not even two steps in, a door opened and out stepped Yoshiko. “You honor us with your presence Major Sakamoto and Warrant Officer Keisuke.” she stated with a low bow.

“You honor us with your invitation to dinner.” Mio replied with a bow of her own. After righting herself she asked, “Is there a wounded soldier here by chance. I couldn't help but notice the boots.”

“A wounded one no, but there is one that's an old friend of Yoshika's here right now, a certain Lieutenant Aaron Divale.” Yoshiko clarified.

Sakamoto's eyes widened in surprise. “Aaron is here?! Where is he?!” she hastily asked.

“Over in the living room having tea with my daughter. Yoshika is there too to tell her that we have a cracked ladle and will have to buy a new one sometime.” Yoshiko answered.

Both Mio and Hijikata bowed in thanks and raced to the living room. The major got to the door first and found it closed. Reaching out, she grabbed it with her right hand and slid it open. It didn't take long to for her eyes to pick out Yoshika, Sayaka, and Aaron laughing among themselves over something or another. She smiled and uttered a cackle of hers as well. It quickly caused the ruckus to die down and everyone turned their attention to her and Keisuke. “Well if it isn't Aaron Divale.” Mio announced with her hands on her hips, looking at how much he changed and the silver bars on his collar. “You look a little shaggy there lieutenant.” she further quipped, noting his long hair and rank. “Might want to consider getting a cut one day.”

“It's been a while.” Divale admitted, giving her a salute. “Good to see you major. You haven't changed a day since I last saw you.”

Nodding, Sakamoto was about to address Yoshika when she beheld something that aggravated the disciplinarian in her. “You have a a bit of draft down there lieutenant.” she sternly stated.

The warlock instantly knew what she meant and zipped up his fly. “Apologies.” he replied.

“That would be ten laps back in the 501st.” Mio reminded.

Aaron cocked his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now wait a second,” he began, “whenever one of the other pilots got busted for uniform violations, they only got five laps. Why is it that I get ten?”

“We are half clothed while you are fully. Double the clothing worn equals double the punishment. It's only fair.” the witch reasoned.

 _Guess she's got me there._ Divale smiled, knowing that he wasn't going to reason his way out of that argument and extended his right arm, palm open. The major knew what he was doing and took hold of it. “Still, it's very good to see you.” he repeated. He let go of her hand and went over to Hijikata. “And it's very good to see you too Keisuke. How are you feeling?” he inquired.

“Very good.” the warrant officer answered. “Everything's been going well.”

“Has it been giving you any trouble?” Aaron asked, moving his neck from side to side.

“Not at all. And before you ask, I've been sticking to the doctor's orders and working within the restrictions.” Hijikata replied with a wink and extended his right arm, palm open.

Divale took his hand and gave it a good firm shake. _The treatment is still holding up well despite him still on active duty. I think I may have truly improved on the original design. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving man._ “Now that we're all here maybe we should help with getting the dinner ready. Many hands make light work you know.”

“Oh we have it all taken care of.” Sayaka countered politely. “You don't need to worry about a single thing.” She regarded Yoshika and ordered, “Get some more cushions from the dresser and the large table out of the closet while I'll help your grandmother get supper ready.”

Yoshika nodded and went to task while Sayaka bowed and left the room. Aaron watched Yoshika clear the small table faster than greased lightning, placing the cups and tea pot off to the side before picking up the table with both hands and walking it over towards the closet door. He knew it wasn't his assignment since he was a guest, but he didn't feel right watching her do everything. He took one and a half steps and slid open the door just as Yoshika had set the wooden table down, leaning it against the wall. “You didn't have to do that Aaron. I've got it.” Miyafuji assured.

“I know, but friends help friends.” Divale pointed out. “I'll handle the tables. Go get the cushions.” He turned away and looked into the closet and found the large table quite easily. Reaching out with his right hand, he took hold of the wooden piece of furniture and lifted it up and out. It was surprisingly light for its size and he nearly dropped it out of shock. Thankfully, he didn't and as soon as he leaned the larger table against the wall, he moved the small table into the closet and closed the door. Once that was done, the warlock took a careful hold of the large table, lifted it up gently, walked to the center of the room, and set it down with near divine reverence. In the meantime, Yoshika had already gotten the extra cushions from the dresser and arranged them.

“Thank you Aaron.” Miyafuji remarked.

“Anytime.” the warlock replied. “Like I said, many hands make light work.”

“Especially when some of those hands are as big as yours.” Hijikata observed. His comment drew chuckles from everyone while they sat down and Aaron simply shrugged as he put the cups and tea pot back on the table.

“Speaking of light work,” Mio quipped, “what have those hands been up too since you left Folkestone?”

“Fighting the enemy in North Africa.” Divale replied, casually taking up his cup and sipping the tea still inside.

“North Africa?” Yoshika asked. “The Neuroi are there too?”

“That they are Yoshika, and in great numbers.” Aaron answered.

Mio was troubled by the news and placed her right hand under her chin in thought. “Very odd, North Africa I mean. From my understanding, that front was declared secure not too long ago. What happened down there?” she queried.

The warlock downed the rest of the tea and poured himself another cup. “I really can't go into too much detail since it's classified, but what I can say is that the enemy took advantage of how overextended we were and pushed the Allied armies back. By the time I got there, their backs were against the literal wall in Alexandria. I was assigned to the reformed 31 st  JFS Afrika.” he continued.

 _The 31_ _st_ _was reformed?! Must have suffered terrible losses to even consider that. Wait... what about Katou?_ “Who remained if you don't mind me asking?” Sakamoto asked, deep down fearful of the answer.

“Only Lieutenant Marseilles and Pilot Officer Pottgen.” Aaron replied.

 _So... she's dead then. Damn it. Another one gone. How many more will this war take?_ The major bowed her head, closed her eye, and sat in silence for a few seconds out of respect for the fallen. Opening her eye again, she inquired, “I take it the new pilots have distinguished themselves?”

“Both pilots and the enlisted men and women have certainly done so.” Divale responded.

“A mixed unit?” Hijikata mused. “Now that's very rare to see these days.”

“Why is it so rare?” Yoshika asked.

“While it is true that land based witches and enlisted men like myself are normally grouped up into units, having aerial support added in is normally reserved for much larger groups.” Keisuke replied.

“Regardless, it's proven to be very effective. Almost three months later, we've bottled them all back up.” Aaron declared. “And you can rest assured that we'll not make the same mistakes again. When I get back from leave, we're going to crush them once and for all.”

“How long is your leave?” Miyafuji queried. “If it's long enough, I can show you all around the city and naval base.”

Divale opened his mouth to answer, but the door to the living room slid open and in stepped Sayaka and Yoshiko, each woman holding either end of a long pole from which dangled the biggest earthenware pot that the warlock had ever laid eyes on. The vented lid billowed steam like a chimney and, even though they had yet to cross the threshold, the smells of whatever it was that laid within were divine. His mouth watered instantly as they both entered the room, carefully maneuvered the pot over the table, and gently started to lower it down on the wood. _Please don't break. Please don't break._ His fears were unfounded as the table face held the weight of the pot without creak or crack. As the ladies began to take the pole out from handle, in stepped Michiko, holding a large tray filled with bowls, chopsticks, small porcelain cups, and some strange small bottles stoppered with small corks. “Whew.” Sayaka commented as she sat down next to Aaron, unbuttoning the top button as to better cool down. “That was some work.”

“Too easy if you ask me.” Yoshiko stated plainly, shoving the pole underneath the table. “Didn't have much trouble at all.”

“That's the kind of talk I expect from former military.” Mio remarked with respect.

“Excuse me for asking, but what are those bottles?” Aaron asked as Michiko doled out the contents of her tray.

“That is called sake.” Yoshika informed. “It's alcohol made from rice and served warm.”

 _Hmm. Warm alcohol. Nothing to unfamiliar, but it's in the middle of summer. Why would you drink it hot when you would want something cold?_ “What does it taste like?” Divale asked as Michiko placed the last pair of chopsticks on the table and shoved the tray under the table.

“Oh you'll find out soon enough.” Hijikata said with a wink. The warlock cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement. _Am I getting set up for something?_

“Now,” Sayaka announced as Michiko sat down next to Yoshika, “before we begin, let us all thank our honored guests for their continued commitment to the war effort and for allowing us to dine with them tonight.” Then as one, all three of the Miyafuji's and Michiko bowed. When that was done, she stated, “Everyone my now take the bottle of sake on their right and pour into each others glass on the left.” Aaron watched as everyone took up their assigned bottles and he did the same. The moment his fingers grasped the porcelain, he could feel how warm it was. _It's like I'm touching a warm body. Interesting._ Copying those around him, he then carefully poured the sake into Sayaka's cup. He found the task easy, but not the execution. Given the massive height difference between him and her, he could easily see down her uniform top and as Sayaka tipped her bottle, more of her cleavage began to show. Divale wisely averted his gaze in the nick of time. _Don't want it to look like I'm trying to sneak a peak on Yoshika's mom._ The cup was filled quickly and the warlock hurriedly, yet politely, made his withdraw, stoppering the sake bottle with the cork. Once everyone was done, Sayaka directed everyone to take up their cups with both hands. In Aaron's case however, he used his fingers as to not totally obscure the cup. “To good health and good friends.” she declared. Instinct made Divale want to clink the glass, but since he saw no one else do it, he thought better of it and merely sipped from the cup. The warm liquid passed over his tongue and his eyes flashed as the flavors exploded in his mouth. _What the fuck is this?! There's apple, some herbs mixed in there, and... flowers?! There's so much going on here that I can't make heads or tails of it!_ Despite his initial shock, the warlock swallowed the sake without complaint and breathed outwards slowly as the warmth went down his throat. “So,” Sayaka quipped as she regarded Aaron, “what do you think?”

 _Best be honest._ “I really don't know what to say except... wow.” Aaron replied, swirling the sake in the cup. “It's unlike anything that I've ever had. There so many layers of flavor in this that it makes me want to get down to the bottom of this and find out.”

“That might be a bad idea Aaron.” Michiko spoke up from near the head of the table. “As my father always says, 'Finding the true flavors in a cup of sake is like trying to figure out the mind of a woman; it can't be done'.”

The comment made everyone around the table chuckle and Sayaka then reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a cloth. She handed it over to Aaron and asked, “Would you mind removing the lid?”

Divale nodded, taking the cloth in his right hand. He then stood up, rising to his full height, and leaned forwards slightly, his head hovering over the enormous pot. The steam curled around his face as he reached out and took hold of the small bulge on the lid. The heat could still be felt through the fabric and the warlock carefully lifted the lid at an angle, allowing any excess water to trickle into the pot instead of on the table. More steam spewed out, looking like a cloud getting broken up by a pair of pilots, obscuring the view. It settled down quickly and the sight that greeted Aaron's eyes was simply astounding. Bobbing up and down and all around inside a deep brown broth were all manners of vegetables, noodles, and meats. Judging by how filled to the brim it was, there was at least a few gallons worth. He simply stood there, spellbound by the sheer quantity of food before him. Suddenly, he heard laughing coming from Yoshika. He turned to look and Miyafuji smiled and recollected, “You remember the first meal we had together?”

Aaron thought about it and smiled back. “That I do. Guess I still can't get over the shock of seeing so much in one place after going so long with so little.” he admitted. He then looked around for a place to put the lid. Yoshiko noticed what he was looking for and gestured underneath the table. Taking the hint, the warlock did so and sat right back down. Then, Yoshiko took up her bowl and chopsticks and started using them to grab whatever she wanted to eat. When she was done, it went over to Sayaka, then Hijikata, then Mio. For a moment, Divale was puzzled, but he soon figured it out. _They're going by age, oldest to youngest._ The thought made him sad, for he had no idea just how old he truly was.

Yoshika saw his mood darken and asked, “Are you okay?”

Divale looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. “I think I should go last.” he suggested.

Michiko furrowed her brow. “You're fifteen?” she inquired skeptically.

Sayaka laughed. “There's no way you're fifteen. No fifteen year old I know would have such maturity within and without.” she remarked with a wink directed at Aaron.

The warlock fought back the urge to blush and defended his decision. “Forgive me if it seems like I'm being rude or disrespectful, but... I never knew my parents. I have no relatives, no brothers, no sisters. Besides what the military has on me and what my diary says about me, no records exist regarding my previous life, including when I was born. Eighteen is just an estimate.” he explained to a breathless table as what he said had a clear effect.

Hijikata then leaned forwards and stated, “I concur Aaron. You did say at the coven back in England that you first saw the sun on December 25th 1939\. Though you existed long before that time, you never truly entered the world. This is significant for we Japanese assess a birth date when and only when a child can see the world around them.”

“Almost five going on nineteen.” Mio quipped.

The warlock processed what he just heard in his head and marveled at how it made him question. V _ery interesting concept. If we go by that, every Japanese person I've met today could be older for not every child can open their eyes readily after birth. I didn't have that problem then. Maybe you're right Hijikata._ “Looking pretty good for a toddler eh?” he stated with a sly grin. The whole table laughed and Yoshika took her helping followed by Michiko. Knowing it was his turn, Aaron took up his chopsticks with his right hand and tried to get them in comfortable position in his hand, but without much success.

“Here,” Sayaka offered, “let me show you.” She then reached over with her hands and manipulated his fingers. “The first rests between your index and middle fingers with your thumb securing it. That prevents the chopsticks from wobbling. You make a small space between the middle and ring finger and run the second along the ring and pinky. That one will be secured by the webbing of your hand.” Divale did as he was instructed and moved them around just to make sure that he got it right. “Look at that.” Sayaka marveled. “He's a natural.” Filled with more confidence, the warlock started taking the food from the soup. Much of the broth naturally came with it and he soon filled his bowl up. Returning to his cushion, Yoshiko started off the meal by eating first and then everyone started chowing down. Divale brought the bowl close to his mouth, inhaling the scents of the ingredients. He then took a hold of what looked to him like a green onion and some pork and popped it into his mouth. Just like with the sake, the taste blew him away like a leaf in a hurricane. Aaron moaned happily as he chewed and swallowed.

“I'm speechless.” he uttered to no one in particular. Regarding Sayaka, he continued, “This is amazing. I would be honored to have the recipe.”

Sayaka smiled. “Our pleasure, but this wasn't my recipe. It's Yoshika's.” she pointed out.

Looking off to his right, Miyafuji was beaming with pride. “I'll give you the recipe if you answer what I asked before the meal started.” she stated.

“Regarding how long my leave you is?” Divale clarified. Yoshika nodded eagerly and he continued, “If it wasn't for the war, I'd probably stay here forever. Japan has captured my heart with its beauty and hospitality. However, there are more friends I wish to see before I return to action. I'll stay overnight, but come the morning, I must depart.”

“I understand Aaron.” Yoshika replied, unhurt by his decision.

“You truly are a caring man.” Sayaka commented. “Any woman would be lucky to have you as a husband.”

 _Hold on now... is this why she's acting like this? To get me hitched with her? Granted you are good looking, but... no. Don't even come close to me. Everyone that has, has never lived long enough to enjoy it._ “Thank you for the compliment.” the warlock replied with a small bow towards Sayaka.

“Friends are very important in life.” Yoshiko mused. “Cherish them always young man.”

“Always.” Aaron answered.

Mio looked at the lieutenant and shook her head in admiration. “You've truly changed a lot since you left Aaron. We were all worried when you departed without so much as a goodbye.”

“Yes, I have changed a lot.” Divale acknowledged. “I'm not in the doldrums anymore. I've gotten over what happened at Dover. I've never been this comfortable in my own skin and I plan to keep it that way.”

“Do you still have the nightmares? The flashbacks too?” Hijikata inquired.

“From time to time with the former, but I honestly can't recall the last time I had a flashback. Maybe it has something to do with finally letting go?” Aaron hypothesized.

“It takes great strength of mind as well as body to leave that behind. Lucretia would've been proud of you.” Keisuke declared.

Memories of his lost love went through Divale's mind, yet strangely enough, none of the bad times were there, just the good ones where he held her in his arms and she looked up at him with her emerald eyes and that beautiful smile that could melt the coldest of hearts. “I'm confident she's smiling down at me right now.” he uttered. “Thank you Hijikata for those kind words.” The warrant officer bowed and the party soon busied themselves with consuming the bountiful feast before them.

******************

“Alright, who wants the last bit of sake in my bottle?” Yoshiko asked as she looked around the room. All around her, the entire party was looking utterly spent from having devoured every drop of the soup. Aaron was the worst one off as he simply laid on the floor of the living room, rubbing his engorged stomach. Despite his condition, he simply raised his left hand. The old woman got up from her cushion, leaned forwards, and placed it near his empty bowl.

“That was an amazing meal. Complements to all the chefs. I'll get to the sake, but I don't think I'll be heading for bed. I'm so full that I can't move from this spot.” Aaron remarked. He tried to tilt his head up, but simply couldn't do so. _That was the best meal I've had in a long while. I have to make this for the 31_ _st_ _when I see them again._

“Then allow me to help you.” Sayaka declared. Divale watched the slightly tipsy mother reach out and grasp the sake bottle. She then slid around to the back of Aaron and gently lifted his head with her free hand. _What's going on here? What is she doing?_ Before he knew it, Sayaka had set his skull back down, but it wasn't on a cushion. _This is way too firm to be a cushion and it's quite warm. Wait a minute..._ Summoning his courage, he tilted his head up and came face to face with Sayaka who was looking straight down at him and utterly pleased with herself upon having his head on her lap. She removed the cork and bent over a tad as to get a better angle. “Open wide Aaron.” she advised. Not wanting to get a free shower, the warlock obeyed just in time for the lip of the porcelain to hit his one. Warm alcohol washed down his throat and he gulped it down. Once, twice, three times he did so, but the booze kept flowing. _Sweet Jesus! How much did she not drink!?_ Two more large gulps later and the bottle was drained. The effects of the sake hit him harder than the absinthe he had in Wilhelmshaven and the room was starting to look like it was spinning. “You still with us Aaron?” Sayaka playfully asked.

“Most certainly.” Divale answered. “However, I feel the room is trying to escape on us.”

Mio laughed. “Congratulations Lieutenant Divale. You have officially gotten drunk on four of seven continents. Pretty impressive feat.” she quipped.

“Better than fighting on four of seven.” the warlock retorted with a weak smile on his face.

Suddenly, Sayaka gasped and quickly apologized. “Oh, I'm so sorry! I almost forgot what it was that Yoshika and I are going to do for you later! Please excuse me!” She maneuvered his cranium off her lap and got up and out of the room in a flash, leaving Aaron with a host of questions that now wouldn't be answered. However, there was one that he knew he had to ask.

“Deiectionem.” he intoned and the magic did it's work in ridding his body of the effects of the sake. Fully sober, he sat up and looked at a very surprised Yoshika. “Can I ask you a serious question?” he inquired.

“Of course you can.” Miyafuji stated. “We are friends aren't we?”

“Before I say anything, please don't take this the wrong way and don't let your mother know that this conversation ever happened. So, this is my question: Is your mother trying to seduce me? Because, I getting a lot of mixed signals and I really need to know what they mean.” Aaron explained.

Yoshika looked down and away slightly as she replied, “My mother started acting like this with male patients and visitors after receiving word of my father 'sdeath . She's using it as a coping mechanism so that her sadness doesn't affect her duties as a doctor. Believe me when I say this Aaron: She's not trying to seduce you at all; she's merely trying to forget.”

The explanation left the warlock breathless and unable to speak for a good while. “Sounds a lot like someone I used to know.” he finally remarked.

“This may sound strange, but I hope she follows your path young man.” Yoshiko stated. “I can see in your eyes that you were referring to yourself just then. I appreciate your concern, yet grief, like love, takes time for one to come to the point where they finally see it and act upon it. My daughter will be fine in time.”

Not too long after that was said, Sayaka reentered the room wearing a blue kimono with a yellow sash. In her hands, she carried a yew wood box with a single iron latch. Yoshika got up from her cushion and walked on over to her mother, guiding her to her seat. As she did so, Aaron noted that the box looked heavy in Sayaka's hands and she showed no signs of being tipsy at all. Glancing over at Miyafuji, he got a feeling judging from face that she knew what was in there and it was very important. The pair crossed the room and sat down next to him on his left. Yoshika then cleared her throat and said, “Me and the rest the 501st wanted to give this to you after the party was over, but you left before we had a chance. They entrusted this to me until the day I saw you again.” She then undid the latch and opened the wooden box. Inside was a long thin bar that had been bent into the shape of a heart. Eleven small iron locks were fastened to it by way of holes that had been drilled into the metal. Each one was engraved with the name of one of the witches. In the center was a picture of all eleven witches standing right outside the Folkestone airbase, the brick and mortar building right behind them, the sky as blue as can be. Under that was a plain white placard written in a way that made it look like that several hands had took turns writing the message inscribed on it. The message read: 'Friends like these fastened locks are always with you forever, but the time you have with them is not. Though the ties that bind us to you may one day break and fall to dust, these locks, like our admiration, friendship, and love for you, will always remain.'.

It was too much for Aaron to bear and tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked up at Yoshika. In all his years, he never received a gift of this magnitude. He tried to speak, but he couldn't find the words for the longest time. “Thank you.” Divale croaked in a low strained staggered voice, tears falling to the floor. “Thank you all so very much. I will treasure this always.”

Miyafuji reached out with her arms and embraced the crying warlock, drawing him into her left shoulder so he could continue to weep silently. “Thank you for being a good friend.” she replied.

While this was going on, Mio's face betrayed no emotion, but her heart was filled with joy with seeing it play out. _It was long overdue, but it's finally happened. You meant and still mean so much to us all Aaron. You deserve this._ The second to last word stuck with her, and try as she might, Sakamoto couldn't rid herself of it. It puzzled her until she realized that there was a reason why it lingered. Turning to Hijikata, she commanded, “My case Keisuke. Give it to me.” The warrant officer obeyed without question and handed it over. The exchange drew everyone's attention towards the major, including Aaron who by now had dried his tears and broke the embrace of Yoshika. The witch stood at attention and looked down at the warlock. “Despite having friends who care deeply for you, we are not with you where you are now lieutenant. There are many more battles left to be fought. When you return to North Africa to finish the fight there, please do so with this by your side.” she stated, holding the case in her right palm and opening the box slowly with her left as she did so, showing to all her old sword. “This katana was given to me by my instructor, Kitagou Fumika. Now I, Major Mio Sakamoto, pass this onto you. Keep it well Lieutenant Divale. May it serve you well.”

Divale's eyes widened in bewilderment. He simply could not believe what he was seeing right now. _That's the sword Minna pressed against my throat when I gave my oath of enlistment back at Dover... and she's giving it to me._ Slowly, he stood up and took the katana out of the case. It felt light in his hands, as most things do, but he knew that this sword was capable of more than just looking pretty. Remembering how she drew it back in France, the warlock copied the movements. The blade shone with a bright bluish silver in the light and he could see his reflection in the steel. Though certainly a two handed weapon, he only needed one to hold it steady. Rotating his wrist, he gently turned the weapon over from side to side, marveling at its construction, its beautiful lethality. He then turned his attention to Mio, who had since closed the case, and replied with a low bow, “I will Major Sakamoto.”

“This has most certainly been an interesting evening.” Sayaka commented. “Let's clean up and get ready for bed.”

The Miyafuji's all agreed at once and were about to do just that when the warlock suddenly stopped them with the words, “Allow me.” He pointed the tip of the blade at the table and closed his eyes. “Ad solum purgat.” Suddenly, numerous bright beams of orange leapt from the tip of the katana and circled around the table like a maelstrom. The dirty cutlery then started shaking and soon lifted up into the air. A twitch of one of his fingers later and the door slid open. With the way clear, the whole kit and caboodle simply floated across the room and out of the door, to where no one knew. Aaron opened his eyes and regarded everyone in the room. “They'll all be in or the wash basin by now.” he assured as he sheathed the sword and started to attach it to his belt loop on his right side.

“Why thank you.” Yoshiko stated.

“Yes, most certainly thank you.” Sayaka agreed.

“You receive Major Sakamoto's old sword to fight in your future battles and the first thing you do with it is to take care of some dirty dishes?” Hijikata remarked.

“You saw how my mother and grandmother struggled with that pot.” Yoshika pointed out. “It was practically a battle in itself trying to get it here.” That comment made the whole room erupt in peals of laughter.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Japan to Russia to visit Eila and Sanya. Unfortunately, Aaron's arrival doesn't go unnoticed and it puts his friends in the crosshairs.

_ **Chapter XXIV: From Love With Russia** _

_Ah Mother Russia. We meet again. I've grown old and changed much since the last time I saw you, but you haven't. How can I tell you ask? Because, you're as nosy as ever._

Diary Entry July 13th 1944

Eila placed the sandwiches that she made on the wooden platter with care before covering them with a small red cloth. _Sanya's just going to love these! I just know it!_ She smiled with pride as she walked out of the kitchen and proceeded to go towards the stairs. The grandfather clock stood silent vigil before them, ticking and tocking away the early afternoon. Her boots made the wood creak a tad, but the noise was hardly what one would call loud. As the witch navigated the narrow steps, she recalled the events that led her back to her friend's parent's house in Salekhard. When the 501st was disbanded, the pair received orders to make their way to Vorkuta to help with maintaining air superiority over the region in an attempt to help out the 507th JFW who had one of their members get transferred to North Africa. The missions ran night and day for the first few weeks. It was exhausting, the enemy attacked far more frequently than it did back in England, and down time was nonexistent, but they did what they had to do to get the job done. It got a little bit better when reinforcements arrived from beyond the Urals, allowing them to take some time off. Now, instead of being on standby seven or even ten straight days, the pair had a predictable five on two off schedule. It suited Eila just fine for it allowed her time to take care of Sanya at her parent's house, making her food, telling jokes, having meaningful conversations, getting closer as friends.

During those fun times, she learned that her sister Aurora got sent to North Africa as well and the two had been exchanging letters for some time now. It was good to hear from her and that she was well, but something about them made her uneasy. When she got them, it was plainly obvious that the letters had been opened beforehand and some of the details inside had been blacked out. Juutilainen knew that it had to have been the work of the Russian NKVD, the People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs. It was hard to be angry at the organization for they were only doing their jobs, but something just didn't feel right. _Aurora knows that Sanya and I are practically inseparable and would never include anything in those letters that would make the likes of them take an interest._ The last word made her stop, the tray slightly quivering in her hands. Eila did her best not to show it openly, but it was getting clearer to her with every passing day that her friendship with Sanya was slowly morphing into something more. It thrilled her to think that someone like her and the Russian could be together, but at the same time it scared her half to death. Though she was quite in love with her, she had no clue if the feeling was mutual. Moreover, Russia was far from being an accepting nation and having an illicit, no, a scandalous relationship would most definitely net her a quick visit by the secret police if not an arrest. Though she was part of the Allies and thus on the same side as they were, that would offer no protection from persecution. _And then everything I want for me and her would be destroyed. Our reputations would be tarnished, but she won't get sent to the gulag like me._

“Eila?” Sanya's voice called out from their room, far beyond the staircase. “Is that you?”

“Yes. I'm coming up.” Eila answered. Those four words made her forget her fears for now and she quickened her step, taking the steps two at a time. Upon reaching the top, she took a quick left and walked down a narrow hallway that was decorated with pictures of snow covered Russian landscapes. It reminded her of her homeland and it made her feel a touch of sadness, but only briefly. _My home may be gone, but I have one here with her._ Soon, she came to the door to their room. It was open just a crack and she gave a courtesy knock with her left hand, holding the platter with her right.

“Come in.” Litvyak stated. Juutilainen pushed open the door with her back and walked right inside. The room was small, so small that they had to share the bed that took up most of the free space. When they got there, they shoved it into the right hand corner to make more room, right up against the wall. They could've done the same thing on the left, but the sole window was there and it would make them plainly visible to anyone who might be looking up. _It would've aroused suspicion._ There was a small table next to the bed where an alarm clock ticked away without a care in the world. A walk in closet was off on the left hand side of the wall and a dresser laid nearby, one with a half mirror that could be turned to either side. In the center of the room was a wooden desk, the high back taking up most of the window and there, sitting with a thick blanket over her legs and writing away on a piece of paper was Sanya. Ever since she came back, the young Russian's muse roared back to life and she found herself jotting down music for hours at a time. While it made for good conversation as well as excellent singing, Litvyak let her creativity get the best of her to the point where she hardly came down for meals with her family. It was quite a change considering that when she first came over after finally getting the time to do so, every waking moment involved her family. Now, her mother and father could count on one hand how many times that she came down and spent time with them. It frightened them and Eila took it upon herself to try to get her more involved. Some days she was successful and others she wasn't, but Litvyak never complained about the incessant suggestion box that her friend had become. Sanya looked over her right shoulder at Juutilainen and a warm smile appeared on her face. “Hey.” she simply said.

It was only one word, but it made the Finnish witch's heart flutter. “H-Here are some sandwiches S-Sanya. I-I made them f-for you.” she forced out with a small squeak, holding the platter out.

“Oh Eila,” the Russian replied, her tone making it clear that she was very thankful for the gesture as she took the platter from her, “you didn't have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to.” Eila justified, placing her hands behind her back and blushing a bit.

Sanya looked down at the cloth covered sandwich platter and back at her friend, the smile still there. “I appreciate it Eila. Thank you.” She then uncovered the sandwiches and asked, “So what kind are they today?”

“It's my newest creation.” Eila explained, beaming with pride. “Salmon with a maple glaze and sliced walnuts.”

“Interesting choice.” Livyak muttered. She picked one of the sandwiches, the pink of the salmon covered with a golden brown glaze and off yellow walnuts, and took a big bite. The Russian chewed and Eila looked on in anticipation and worry. _Oh I hope she likes them._ Then, she swallowed and swished her tongue around her mouth for a good few seconds before breaking out into another smile. “This is so good!” she exclaimed. “This is my new favorite! Great job Eila!”

Juutilainen felt such joy that even if she died right then and there, it would've been worth it. Not wanting to be left out, she went over and took a sandwich from the platter. She took a bit and smiled inwardly as she chewed. _Another triumph of culinary expertise._ After she swallowed, she looked down at what Sanya had been writing. “So what is it this time?” she inquired.

“That's going to be a duet in time.” Litvyak illuminated. “I honestly think it while be my greatest work.” Her smile then left her as she looked at the notes on the page. “It's a sad song though. It's about two star crossed loverscalling out to each other across time and space, each one yearning for the one they long for, but can never have, for the price they would pay would cost them all those that care for them.” Suddenly, she felt two long arms around her and her head being drawn into an embrace. She looked and there was Eila, hugging her.

“Don't look like that.” Juutilainen murmured. “I hate seeing that look on your face, even if it's for a moment. Think pleasant things.”

Her words lifted Sanya's spirits and the Russian nodded. It was then that she felt a twinge of pain in her right shoulder and winced. “Maybe I should take a break. If I write anymore, my arm will fall off.” she observed, rolling the shoulder counterclockwise.

“Do you think a massage could help?” Eila suggested, breaking the embrace.

“That's a good idea.” Sanya agreed, getting out of the chair. “I'll sit on the bed. It'll be easier that way.” Litvyak went to the other side of the room and sat down on the edge of the bed while Eila maneuvered around her friend and sat down behind her back. Juutilainen's palms went sweaty and her heart beat faster and faster. _I'm going to do this right! Make sure everything's perfect Eila! You will not disappoint our Sanya!_ Summoning her courage, the witch reached out with her hands and began to work the knot that had formed on Sanya's shoulder. The moment her digits met muscle, her friend moaned. “Right there. That's the spot.” she instructed as Juutilainen went to work. _My goodness this is a hard one. How long has she been writing?_ She erased those thoughts from her mind and rubbed and rubbed. Clockwise, counterclockwise, using the knuckles like corkscrews, using the meat of the hand underneath the thumb like rolling pins, and the backside of the fingers like plows along the bone. Not a single bit of the hand was wasted in attacking the knot. Litvyak rocked as if she were stranded in turbulent seas, moaning, breathing hard, and encouraging her repeatedly with the phrase, “Keep going. Don't stop.”

“We almost got it Sanya.” Eila reported with gritted teeth, loosing that troublesome knot like it was a tightened bolt. “Just a bit more.”

Sanya's eyes rolled back, her control over her spine disappearing more and more with every passing second. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling take over. _I'm going to collapse. My God this is so good. This is the best massage I've ever had._ Suddenly, the rubbing stopped and in its place was nothing but an overwhelming sense of relaxation that made her exhale hard and fall backwards. Eila didn't even so much as move as she caught her. A few breaths later, Litvyak opened her eyes and looked up at Juutilainen. The Finnish witch smiled back at her and was about to set her right back up until the Russian reached up with her right hand and placed it gently on hers, giving it a small squeeze. The pair looked at each other for a good while, letting the moment between them pass without so much as a word. Eila's heart melted at the sight and she so desperately wanted to confess, but the words wouldn't come. Then, Sanya's head started to move closer and closer towards her face. Ice ran up and down Eila's spine. _Is this a sign that she likes me the way I like her? Is this happening? Is this really happening now? What do I do? What do I say?_

Such questions would not be answered today, for out of nowhere, somewhere down in the streets, a rich voice started singing a tune that most wouldn't be able to. At first, the words made no sense as they weren't Russian but Italian, but after the first few, they both realized with a start what that song was and who was signing it. Sanya's eyes widened in shock upon recognizing the song. _Nessun Dorma! And that voice... that's... that's..._ Both witches gave each other a look and blurted out simultaneously, “Aaron!” Scrambling over and around each other, the two friends ran out of the room, zoomed down the hall, and rocketed down the stairs with reckless abandon with Sanya eager to see him and Eila a touch less due to having been cock blocked. The rush didn't go unnoticed and Sanya's mother Ekaterina gave them both a disapproving look.

“Chto, chert voz'mi, vy dvoye delayete, tak begaya po domu (What in the world are you two doing running around the house like that)?” she demanded. “Ty takoy gromkiy, chto mozhesh' razbudit' mertvykh (You're so loud, you can wake the dead).”

“Eto mat' Aarona! Eto Aaron! On na ulitse (It's Aaron mother! It's Aaron! He's outside)!” Sanya replied feverishly.

Ekaterina recalled the name and clapped her hands to her face in shock. “Koldun (The warlock)?!” she exclaimed. Not even waiting for an answer, she turned her head and called out to her husband, “Anton! Zdes' drug Sani Aaron! Prigotov' chto-nibud'! Vse podoydet (Anton! Sanya's friend Aaron is here! Get something ready! Anything will do)!”

Little Litvyak could hear the song reach the final few bars as she got to the door. Her hands wrenched the small brass knob hard and the portal to the outside flew open. A rush of cold air blew into the house, but so to did the voice of Aaron, who stood fifteen feet away, almost fully in the snow covered street. He was dressed in a long black overcoat that covered him from neck to ankle, the black boots the only things visible, and a simple wool cap. His spectacled eyes looked up to the heavens and his arms were spread wide as he sang the final Vincero, sustaining the note beautifully just as he did back at Dover Castle, his breath misting in the cold Russian air. When he was done, he regarded Sanya who in the meantime had been joined by Eila. “I even go slower in the final refrain and you still don't join me for the end sustain?” Aaron remarked with a broad smile. “I decree punishment by hug. Get over here you two.” The witches did need any more coaxing and sprinted right at him, arms wide open. They rammed into him as hard as they could and wrapped themselves around him, laughing and calling out his name rapturously. With his immense strength, he gently lifted them off their feet and spun around as he held onto them, making the scene look like a father coming home to his children. After three full revolutions, he stopped and placed them back down again. “Let's get inside. You're parents are probably freezing right now Sanya.” he advised.

“Yes, let's go.” Eila encouraged. Litvyak nodded in agreement and the trio made their way back to the house, their boots crunching the snow as they went. Divale let the witches go in first and ducked his head down a tad to fit through the door frame, stomping and wiping his feet on the mat before closing the door behind him. Looking around, he saw that the house didn't really change very much the last time he saw it. The hallway leading deeper into the house was narrow and terminated into a large single room that doubled as the living and dining room. There was no carpet of any kind, just hardwood flooring that made him wonder how it wasn't all cracked from the cold. The walls were bare as to allow easier passage and the ceiling was low throughout. _Smart. Less fuel needed to heat the place. Russians might not be good building designers, but they know how to make them practical._ He spotted a coat rack nearby and took off his overcoat and cap, revealing his North African uniform. Before coming to Russia, he made it a point to stuff his long hair underneath the cap, for if some stray moisture were to find its way onto his locks, they would freeze and snap off. _Wouldn't want to see my friends looking like I'm going bald now would I?_ Once he got those tasks done, he ventured deeper into the house, keeping his head low as to not bump into the ceiling. His boots hardly made a sound as he traversed the interior. Rounding the corner, he saw the combination living room and dining room. It was very small and sparsely decorated, but it was done with a keen eye to detail. On the right side of the room, a quartet of straightbacked wooden chairs with red and white cushions on the seats stood before a small coal burning stove, several bags full of the black fuel off to the side, outside of the heat zone. The room was dimly lit, the light fixtures casting a pale yellow all around him, casting long shadows. A sofa with several blankets draped over it was against the upper corner at an angle. Over on the left was the dining room section with a small round table with four more chairs around it, a beautiful crystal swan with its wings unfurled about a foot high in the center. There looked to be a small corridor that would presumably lead to the kitchen judging by the change in the flooring, going from hardwood to sterile white tile.

Suddenly, out from the exact spot he was looking at, he could hear some hustling and bustling going on as well as the sounds of booted feet coming down a flight of stairs. _Oh you guys, you don't have to make so much a fuss on my account. I'm a simple man. You could welcome me with a glass of water and a newspaper and I'll still be grateful._ Then Sanya's parents emerged from the kitchen, Anton and Ekaterina. The matriarch held a small wooden tray of hastily done up bread and cheese with a knife stuck firmly in one of the loaves and the patriarch holding a tray stand. “I'm sorry that it's not much, but please have a seat and help yourself.” she graciously offered, gesturing to the stove.

“And shake off some of that Russian cold into the bargain.” Anton added. “Even though it's the summer months, it's still pretty frigid up in these parts.”

“Oh I know how cold it can get in this country Anton.” the warlock replied with a wink as he made his way to one of the chairs. “We've met more than once in my time.” He went off to the very far right end and angled it so that his back was facing the near wall. With great care, he lowered himself onto the cushioned seat and it miraculously held his weight. _Well I'll be God damned._ Anton set the tray stand down off to the left and Ekaterina placed the bread and cheese tray on top. Aaron nodded in thanks and his eyes picked up movement coming from the kitchen. He glanced in that direction and saw Sanya and Eila come into the living room, the latter holding a tray full of sandwiches. “My goodness.” he commented as Litvyak got another chair from the dinner table and carried it on over. “There's food everywhere.”

“Eila made them.” Sanya explained as she set her chair down and sat in it. “They're salmon with a maple glaze and sliced walnuts. You'll love them.”

Juutilainen blushed with pride as she extended the tray to him and stated, “She speaks the truth. You must have one.”

“Then I have no choice but to do so.” Aaron proclaimed, taking one of the sandwiches in his right hand. With his left, he picked up the knife and sliced off a small chunk of the cheese. Once it was lopped off, he picked apart a bit of bread from the loaf and squished it firmly over the hunk of dairy. Not to be disrespectful, he popped the bread and cheese into his mouth. The bread was fresh and the cheese had a good flavor that complemented it very well. After he swallowed that down, he took a big bite of the sandwich. It was a curious mix of seafood, nut, and sweetness, the flavors all combining to create something that seemed more like a dessert than a snack. “Thank you all very much. It is all wonderful.” he said after a bit.

“Would you like something to drink?” Ekaterina asked.

“Yes please. Water if you don't mind.” Divale replied, hacking off another small bit of cheese.

“Nonsense.” Anton declared. “A guest and friend of our little Sanya deserves much better than water.” He turned to his wife and said, “Get the vodka and some glasses my dear.” Ekaterina nodded and got up. As she did so, Sanya gazed upon the warlock as he nibbled on the bit of cheese he'd just cut. The dim light brought out the sandy color of his uniform top, making his the skin of his face and hands look like they were almost blending. His long ebony hair hung over his shoulders, looking like an ancient Mongol noble contemplating the days events.

“What made you want to grow your hair out?” Litvyak inquired.

Knowing the question was for him, Aaron answered, “There was a point where cutting it just wasn't in the cards so I just let it go.”

“It looks good on you.” Sanya pointed out. “I think you should keep it.” She regarded Eila and queried, “What do you think?”

Juutilainen put on her figurative thinking cap and placed her right hand under her chin as she thought. “It is nice, but I think you might want to secure it somehow. A ponytail would suit you well.” she suggested

“Either that or tucking it in from the back or wearing a cap.” Divale countered, not really wanting to look more like a woman from behind than he had to be. Eila shrugged her shoulders just as Ekaterina reentered the room with five small glasses stacked within each other in one hand and a large bottle of vodka in the other. She doled them out one by one and filled each to the brim with the clear alcohol. When done with that, she set the bottle down on the floor and sat back down.

“To a happy reunion and good friends.” Anton announced while raising his glass. Everyone repeated the phrase and took long sips. Aaron took his drink down to halfway before letting it part with his lips. The warmth of the vodka coursed down his throat and into his stomach, the feeling most welcome. _So much better than freezing my ass off flying over Siberia._ His mind wandered so much during that long flight from Japan, the wastes so familiar that there were times that he felt he was going nowhere. Siberia took up over seventy percent of Russia's landmass, but it had less than a quarter of it's population. That said, Divale found it very hard to find someone that was willing to take in a complete stranger for the night. He actually had to fly all the way to Novosibirsk in order to at least have a chance. It wasn't too bad during the day for the summer temperatures hovered around fifty degrees, but the nights were hellishly cold, plummeting well below zero. Thankfully for the warlock, this wasn't his first encounter with Mother Russia and made sure to take some warm clothing he found on sale at a small clothing shop in Yokohama before he left. Granted, he had to make a few alterations while in mid flight, but he managed well enough. _Pretty much the only sounds I heard were the barely detectable noises the thread made as I tugged it. It was most welcome._

Suddenly, his sensitive hearing picked up something that wasn't welcome in the least. His head whipped around and he held up his left hand for quiet, listening intently as the rumble of a car engine reached his ears. At first, the gesture caught all in the living room by surprise, but when they started to hear what Aaron had already, they fell silent. Anton and Ekaterina put down their glasses and held each other close, the mother issuing a silent prayer. Both Eila and Sanya looked at each other and then at Divale, who looked back at them and mouthed, 'I wasn't followed, but if there's any trouble, I'll handle it'. The car continued to roll down the street outside the Litvyak residence, the sounds of the engine and tension increasing in equal measure. Aaron twiddled his thumbs, the movements ending the enchantment that he put on his backpack and Mio's katana. They both appeared without a sound and the warlock hovered his right hand over the handle of the sword. _I hope I don't have to use this, but if I have to, I will._ Tense seconds passed until Aaron deduced that whatever vehicle was out there simply sped on by. He looked over at everyone and gave them a thumbs up. A collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the room. Sanya regarded the katana and asked, “Where did you get that?”

“I started my leave by going to Japan to see Mio and Yoshika. Both invited me to dinner at Miyafuji's clinic.” Aaron explained. He tapped the pommel of the katana and added, “This here is the major's old sword. She has since forged a new one.”

“And she gave that to you?” Eila inquired, not fully believing it. “Wow.” She paused and he face darkened. “Would you have-” she started to query, but Aaron gave her a look that quelled the rest of that sentence.

“I'm no stranger to how things work here in Russia.” Divale stated. “Even in the early days of my career, I've seen people disappear from the front lines and not all of them were due to desertion.” He glanced over at Anton and Ekaterina who sipped their vodka in an attempt to get over their fright. “Have the NKVD been snooping around here a lot recently?” he asked.

“Yes they have.” Anton answered, running his right hand through his hair. “Have no idea why, but they've been arresting people left and right all along this street. Some have been released and I've seen them out and about, but many more are still gone.”

“We don't ask them what happened for we're all afraid of what might happen if we do.” Ekaterina remarked. She then placed her hands to her face and shook her head. “I don't understand why this is happening. We've done nothing wrong, absolutely nothing to warrant suspicion.” she muttered.

“It's for that reason that they're suspicious.” the warlock observed. “This country has a history of being paranoid about not just the aims of the west, but also from within their own borders. Russia is vast and it's all too easy for some possible subversive ideas to sneak through. You were driven away from your home in Stalingrad while it was being attacked. The route you took was long and perilous, not just distance, but because you had help along the way from foreigners, foreigners that could've corrupted you.”

“That's not true at all!” Anton cried out, standing up from his seat. “We've never diverted from the ideals of our motherland!”

“I never insinuated that you did,” Aaron calmly replied, “and besides, it's not me that that's trying to get to the bottom of it.” His statement made the father sit back down slowly and breathe a few deep breaths. “And in all honesty, it also doesn't help that you have a foreigner living under your own roof.” Juutilainen opened her mouth to protest, but Divale beat her to the punch. “I'm not saying that this is your fault Eila.”

“Then what are you trying to say?” the Finnish witch angrily growled.

“What I am saying is that I think you and Sanya should leave for Vorkuta as soon as possible.” Aaron explained. “This situation is getting hotter by the moment and we need to cool it down fast, or else everyone in this room is going to get in serious trouble.” He paused and looked over at Sanya. “I know that you've only recently reunited with your parents and that the times you've shared with them since then I'm sure have been wonderful but, we need to keep the big picture in mind. Yes, being away from them is going to be hard, but this is the only way that you can keep them safe.”

Litvyak lowered her head and closed her eyes, tears welling up fast. “I don't want to leave them. Not again. I don't want to leave them only to have them be taken away from me again.” she uttered in a low voice, doing her best to keep from crying.

“It's alright.” Ekaterina assured, hugging her daughter tight. “Your father and I will be okay and who knows, maybe he and I could get the clearance to go up to Vorkuta with you.”

“Your friend is right Sanya.” Anton reluctantly agreed. “I don't like it either, but as your father, I would want you to be safe if the roles were reversed.”

Sanya sniffled away the tears and straightened out her back. “Okay. I'll go.” she stated emphatically. She looked over at Eila and added, “Get in touch with Tomoko. We leave in the morning.” Juutilainen didn't even waste anytime in getting on her communicator. While that was going on, Aaron got up from his seat and looked towards the coal stove, he head downcast as if deep in thought. The Russian witch hopped up from her chair and walked over to the warlock. “What's on your mind?” she asked.

Aaron regarded her with a look that seemed be a mix of fear and determination. “I think there is something that we can do to take the heat off your parents, but it's going be to very fucking risky.” he answered.

“What is it?” Litvyak inquired.

“Is there a place nearby where NKVD members hang out? A bar, restaurant, or even a hotel?” Divale queried.

Sanya's eyes widened in shock and fear. “Are you fucking crazy?! We're trying to not arouse suspicion and you want to go into the lion's den?!”

“It won't be just me that walks in there.” the warlock pointed out, gesturing with his head towards Juutilainen who just finished up radioing Tomoko. Litvyak started to tremble and Aaron placed a reassuring hand on her right shoulder. “I'll keep her safe as well as you and your parents. Trust me. Now, where can I find those nosy bastards?”

***********************

Eila drew the long blue overcoat closer to her neck as she walked alongside Aaron down the street. The sun was shining, giving some warmth to the walkers, but the bone chilling wind would blow up hard, kicking snow in their faces. She shuddered as tiny flakes managed to get inside her collar, feeling the water slide down her neck. “If it's too much for you, walk behind me.” Aaron suggested as he kept his eyes facing forward. Juutilainen complied silently, going at the quick step in order to match his strides. Divale slightly panned his head left and right to where one would be hard pressed to tell if he was actually moving at all. His spectacled eyes darted in all directions, looking up the street, up at windows, and down on other pedestrians that quickly put their heads down and trudged on past them without a word or glance. _Typical Russia: Nothing ever seems amiss until it gets you._

The warlock continued to blaze a trail for them both as his mind raced with all manner of ideas and scenarios, most of them not good. Sanya told him that the best place to find NKVD operatives or their minions was at the local bar that was five blocks up the road. It was a spy's paradise with cheap food, cheaper booze, and enough wrong words passing through alcohol loosened lips that you could condemn thousands with. The Litvyaks avoided that deathtrap like the plague for they heard stories of people going in and not coming out again for days, and when they did, they were shells of their former selves. It took a lot of convincing on his part to calm Sanya's nerves to the point where she would allow him to take Eila with him. Before they left, her friend and her had a good long talk. Aaron didn't listen to any of for it wasn't his business, but he could read lips and they told him all that he wanted to hear. _Probably have secret rooms where they would take them after they drugged them or waited until they were passed out drunk. Very strange to do that. Too many eyes and it's wasteful in terms of money and time. A spy values both and would want to get to the heart of the matter right then and there, but as discretely as possible. If it were me doing this, I'd hatch a small scheme away from the bar, probably in an alley somewhere, draw a gun, and herd them in a car._

“Aaron?” Eila asked, making him come back to reality.

Divale caught something in her tone that made him stop dead in his tracks and turn around. “What is it?” he inquired, furrowing his brow a bit.

Juutilainen moved in close to him and looped her right arm in his left. “I need to talk to you about something and I need you to keep this a secret.” she replied, resting her head against his side.

The move caught the warlock by surprise, but only temporarily and the duo whirled right around and continued their journey. “Go right ahead. My lips are sealed.” he assured.

Eila opened her mouth several times, but seemed to change her mind at the last moment and close it again. “How do you know if you love someone?” she asked in a low voice, looking up at him with her blue eyes.

The question made Aaron look down at the witch. It didn't take him long to realize that she was deadly serious and he breathed in deep. “Is there someone you like?” he inquired.

Juutilainen blushed and looked downwards. “Yes. I've had feelings for this person for some time now, but I don't know if they feel the same way about me.” she explained. “It's frustrating because I really want this for us both, but I keep getting mixed signals. There are days where I'm convinced that they do love me back and others where I'm seen as just a friend.” She looked back up at him and queried, “Did you have that trouble sometimes?”

Divale nodded. “It happened between me and Lucretia a few times before I came to realize the truth.” he answered. “If you don't mind me asking, who is this person?”

The witch squeezed his arm a touch harder and swallowed hard. “I really can't say. It's personal and they would be in danger if others were to find out.” she responded.

“That's fine.” the warlock stated. He then leaned off to the side, moving his head down to Eila's ear level and whispered softly, “I already know it's Sanya.” The Finnish witch gasped loudly and started to shake with fright. _Oh no! He knows!_ Her breathing became ragged as fear caused her to stop walking, her eyes wide in terror. She wanted to let go and run away, but her arms wouldn't obey. For his part, Aaron simply stared back down at her, showing no emotion whatsoever. Then he blinked and his face softened. “Why do you look at me like that?” he asked, a tinge of sympathy in his voice. “Are you afraid of what I might think of you now?” Eila started to tear up and he embraced her, holding her in his arms softly as she fought back the urge to cry. “You are not sick in the head Eila nor are you a freak for having these feelings. There is nothing wrong or abnormal or whatever the hell they want to call it in loving someone else, even if it is another woman. Love knows no boundaries and I'm the last person in the world that can judge someone for being different. Nothing is going to change between us. I'm your friend and I will always have your back.”

Eila tilted her head up and smiled. “Thank you Aaron.” she said, drying her wet eyes fast lest the wind freeze the tears.

“Anytime.” Divale replied. He then offered his leftt arm again and Juutilainen took it once more. They walked for a few dozen feet before he added, “And to answer your question fully, you can always tell that someone has feelings for you when you start to notice the looks and embraces getting longer, that whenever you two touch or breathe you feel it getting softer with time, and when the conversations could go on for hours at a time about the most boring topics and you still would rather be there with them than anywhere else. When it comes to love however, the only surefire way that I know of recognizing that in another person is when they let you see them at their weakest and they see that you don't abandon them regardless of the consequences.”

Eila thought about it and felt much more confident that Sanya had feelings for her, but try as she might, there wasn't a single time where she showed weakness in front of her. “What if they try to make a move on you?” she asked. “Like, what if it looked like they were trying to kiss you?”

The warlock gave it a thought and shrugged his shoulders. “It's not uncommon in some countries to do that. Take France for example.”

Suddenly the witch gave Aaron's arm a quick pinch that caused him to yelp more out of surprise than pain. “I'm convinced that she was going to kiss, but someone had to come along and interrupt.” she explained with a pouting face.

“Oh if you think that was bad,” Divale countered, “picture this if you will. Way back when Shirley, Francesca, and I got grounded and decided to do community service to get back in the air, we all stayed at Lucretia's place. They stayed in the spare room on the top floor and me and Lucretia shared her bedroom. Nothing happened that night and we simply fell asleep. In the morning however, I was feeling it. Everything is going smoothly and then guess who decides to knock on our door? True, they made us all breakfast, but it was a touch awkward eating in front of your friends while still hard up shall we say.”

Juutilainen laughed, but the wind came up hard, much harder than before, killing the mirth. The warlock spotted a small alleyway and made a beeline towards it to get out of the hellish wind until it died down. It didn't take long before they had shelter, but their faces and coats were covered in snow. Aaron blew upwards, sending a blizzard of flakes off his face and then started patting himself down to get the rest off of him. Eila did the same and while she was doing that, she smelled car exhaust fumes in the air. Looking down the alley, she saw a parked town car with the front facing them, engine thrumming so softly that she almost thought it wasn't on. The lights were off and there was no one in the front seat, but the exhaust curled up into the cold air just the same. “Aaron?” she mentioned, tapping him on the shoulder.

Divale regarded the vehicle and sub vocalized imago calor. His eyes could pick up the heat of the engine, a bright red spot that took up a lot of space. However, it wasn't enough to hide the fact that there was a people inside. _Either someone's trying to find some peace and quiet or we might have stumbled on our NKVD friend._ That was when the rear car doors opened and out stepped a woman in a long coat, mittens, and thick wool hat. She was in her early to mid thirties and had short curly brown hair. Her charming face and brown eyes were filled with concern for the pair and she called out, “You poor dears, are you alright?”

The warlock knew that the empathy that the woman showed was clearly fake, but went along with it. “We're fine. Just a bit chilled at the moment.” he replied.

“Come over here and warm yourselves up. I have some hot chocolate in a thermos in my car.” she suggested, beckoning them with her hands.

Eila looked at Aaron and grew uneasy. He looked back at her and smiled. “Do we dare refuse that invitation?” he conjectured. Juutilainen caught the tone in his voice and could do little by nod in agreement. _That must be an agent or else he wouldn't sound like that._ Thus the two walked over to the woman who stood away from the door and graciously held it open for them. Aaron was the first one there and saw that the car interior was vast, reminding him of the town car that he and Lynette traveled in when they visited her mother with many black leather clad seats that faced each other instead of the front. However, the ceiling was very low and he had to basically slide in at an angle so that he wouldn't clip his head. While entering he subvocalized, “+Delouse this car. Leave no stone unturned+”

“+I'm already six steps ahead of you my dear.+ Ismenoth cooed right back.

“Was a good thing I spotted you.” the woman remarked just as Eila got inside the car and sat down next to Divale. “Another moment longer and you both would've froze to death with all that snow on you.”

“We appreciate it ma'am.” Eila answered with the best fake smile that she could manage. “What's your name?”

“I'm Mrs. Cohen and you're very welcome young lady.” Cohen responded. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small metal thermos. Cohen unscrewed the lid and the second it came off, steam from the hot chocolate billowed out, filling the interior with the rich luscious scent. “I wish I had another cup so that you both may enjoy it.” she apologized as she poured.

“No need to apologize Mrs. Cohen.” Juutilainen stated. “Besides, I'm allergic to chocolate.”

 _Smooth lieutenant._ “Don't worry about Eila.” Aaron assured, giving her a one armed hug with his right arm. “I'll drink for both of us now and I'll treat you to something nice later on.”

Cohen finished pouring the hot chocolate and handed the cup to the warlock. “It's so nice to meet a young man who cares for his girl.” she quipped.

Eila immediately blushed and Aaron chuckled as he took the cup from Cohen with his left hand. “We're just good friends, not close friends Mrs. Cohen. I can see where you'd get the idea though.” he explained. He paused, inhaling the smell of the warm beverage. Sighing with pleasure, he commented, “I can tell already that this is something truly special Mrs. Cohen.”

“Oh that it is.” the woman assured. “It's my mother's secret recipe. My husband takes it just before bed. He says it's so good that it puts him right out in no time. Hurry and drink it up. You don't want it to get cold now would you?”

 _You think you've got me right where you want me, but it's you that I have cornered you spy scum._ Aaron slowly lifted the cup to his lips and started to tip it back, but stopped mid move for the steam from the hot chocolate fogged up his glasses. He pouted and shook his head. “Cursed glasses.” he muttered, closing his eyes as he took them off his face. “I don't know why I wear them.”

“If you don't mind me asking, why do you wear them?” Mrs. Cohen asked.

Divale smiled and opened his eyes in a flash, letting her see his molten bronze colored orbs. “Take a guess.” he jested. The woman's face went sheet white and she opened her mouth to say something, but the warlock was too quick on the draw. “Capio Cohen.” he intoned, adding a little flick of wrist from his right hand. The spell took immediate effect, paralyzing the spy and her hands clapped her face hard, covering the mouth in its entirety. Eila's heart leapt for joy at seeing the spy being outsmarted at her own game.

“Yes!” she hissed with a fist pump added into the bargain. “Great job Aaron!” She turned to look at him, and the moment she did, her enthusiasm died. Long gone was the smile and in its place was a dark sinister sneer of sheer hatred, one that she saw once before at Dover Castle when he led them to safety, and one that she didn't want to see again. His head was tilted forward a fraction of an inch, his long dark hair forming a veil that covered everything up to the the halfway point of his cheeks. The eyes glared at the helpless Mrs. Cohen, burning a hole through her. The witch started to shudder. _This isn't part of the plan. What's he doing? What's he thinking?_ “Aaron?” she uttered in a low voice, doing her best to not to aggravate the situation. Divale didn't answer, instead reaching behind him and pulling out one of his Torkarevs. Juutilainen's eyes widened and her blood ran colder than the snow outside. The reaction from Mrs. Cohen was mutual and she struggled mightily against the enchantment holding her fast, but there was nothing she could do except watch as the warlock cocked the hammer. “Aaron don't!” the witch blurted loudly. “There's no reason to do that!”

That got a response. Aaron gave her a sideways glance and he calmly replied, “I know that Eila. If I was simply going to walk around, killing spies left and right, I wouldn't have brought you along. Now, don't take this the wrong way, but it's really hard to think when you're almost screaming in my ear so I really need you to shut the fuck up right now if you please.” Once he said that, he regarded Mrs. Cohen. “I'm going to remove your hands from your face Mrs. Cohen, if that is even your real name. When I do, you and I are going to have a calm civil chat. Hopefully it will go well. Understand?” he stated coldly.

Cohen blinked once, the tell tale sign for yes, and Divale's face twitched. The movement took the hands away from her face, lowering and eventually resting them on her lap, the palms upwards. _So it is him, the warlock. When did he arrive in Russia? We received nothing from our other cells about this._ “I know who you are now.” she admitted, looking at him and doing her best to maintain her composure.

“And I bet you also know just how deep of a hole you're in right now.” the warlock countered, keeping his eyes and gun trained on her.

“Your friend Eila is right; you have no reason to do this. You're supposed be a a friend to us Russians. Why the change?” the woman asked.

“Don't play dumb with me bitch.” Aaron growled. “You know damn well why there's a change.”

 _So that's it then._ “You are on Russian soil warlock.” Cohen pointed out. “We handle things in our motherland the way we see fit. This doesn't concern you. It's none of your business.”

“When what you handle concerns my friends and their families, it becomes my business you spy scum.” Divale retorted. He gave the cup of hot chocolate over to Eila and put his pistol away. “Mrs. Cohen, do you have any idea how many of you bastards I ran into while I was in Russia back in 1940? Can you even fathom the sheer amount of time and energy that I spent in making sure that there were no eyes on me or bugs around me?”

“Before I answer that question, answer one of mine.” the woman brazenly declared. “Did you kill any of my comrades?”

“No.” he warlock answered without a hint of hesitation in his voice. “There was no need for me to. Your government has already proven itself more than capable of killing their own on multiple occasions. Adding my efforts into the mix would simply be a waste of time and ammunition.”

“So you exposed them.” Cohen deduced.

“Exposed?” Eila inquired, not understanding what was meant.

“A spy's greatest strength is maintaining a false identity so that they can blend in and continue their work. Without it, they'd be captured or killed in a matter of hours if not days. By anonymously exposing them, I made their existence and operation public knowledge on every channel I could reach. In most countries, the spy would then abort the mission and go into hiding with the expectation of receiving no aid from their nation. Russia however has a much different way of dealing with that. To them, an outed spy is about as useful as a comb with no teeth. There's no point in keeping it around so they dispose of it.” Aaron explained.

“In other words young lady, they kill them.” Cohen further illuminated.

“If they're lucky, they get picked up in a car, driven to the outer limits, shot, and left in a snowbank to get covered by the snowfall. If they're not lucky, they'll spend the rest of their lives in a gulag, slaving away at a work camp in one of the many mines up in the Urals, turning big rocks into little ones eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, until they die.” Divale continued. He saw the horror on Eila's face and decided to leave it be. _Don't want to go any further than that. I've seen those places on one of my many scouting missions before the isthmus. If you only knew the amount of human suffering that went on in there._ He then regarded Mrs. Cohen and offered, “Those fates don't have be yours. There is a way that you can save yourself.”

“You want me to end the investigation into the Litvyaks I presume?” the woman asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“Permanently end.” the warlock emphatically stated. “Why are you investigating them anyways? Sanya Litvyak has been and still is a loyal soldier of Russia. I've seen it with my own eyes. Any who think she could be a traitor are idiots.”

“I'm sure you speak the truth, but your friend has been out of the country for quite a while.” Cohen replied.

“What does that have to do with it?” Juutilainen inquired.

“Far too often, those of us that travel outside of the country come back changed men and women. The ideas of the west corrupt their judgment and they start sharing them with others. Then they start spreading like wildfire, causing people to doubt the efficacy of our government. We fear rebellion. That, and considering that she is always with you, makes us think that you are trying to get her to defect.” Cohen responded.

Eila became indignant. “I've done nothing of the sort!” she cried out. “Sanya is my friend! I'd never tell her to abandon her country!”

“Calm down.” Aaron advised in a measured voice. It did the trick and he then asked Cohen, “So what's it going to be? Are you going to end the investigation or am I going to have to out you to the public?”

“Even if you blow my cover, there are still many more of us true patriots that can take my place.” Cohen warned.

“Oh I know there's more of you.” Divale agreed. He flipped his left hand up palm first and soon, long wispy tendrils looking like skinny leeches shot up from the meat of his hand, twisting this way and that. “And I can find out exactly where and who they are with my magic. It won't matter at all if you try to resist me, I'll rip it all out and go find some more to talk to. By the end of the day, I'll have taken the names of every spy in this city. Dozens if not hundred will die by firing squads or be sent to the gulag. You say that you and your friends are true patriots of the Soviet Union, but how will you be able to live with yourself knowing that you caused their deaths through your pride? What will your husband say when they come for you? I'm sorry? I love you perhaps? Maybe shed a tear or two? Don't be a fool Mrs. Cohen. End the investigation and I will keep all this a secret for the rest of my days. It will be as if we never met at all. You have my word.”

The woman thought and thought about the prospects and eventually nodded in agreement. “Very well. The investigation into the Litvyaks and your friend beside you will be terminated at once.” she stated.

“Before we leave you Mrs. Cohen,” Aaron continued, “I wish to make one thing perfectly clear. I have no doubt that your communication networks are fast, but they pale in comparison to the speed at which my magic operates. It wouldn't take me weeks or days to find out if you reneged on this deal; it would be minutes. If it does turn out that you or anyone else within the circles of the secret police have betrayed my trust,” Here he paused and stuck the thumb and index of his right hand into the still warm hot chocolate. The liquid bubbled for a split second and then went still. Then, the warlock lifted his fingers and in his grasp was a blue bullet shaped pill. He flicked off the moisture from his fingers and placed it in the right hand of a flabbergasted Mrs. Cohen. “Then the next blue heaven you see will the one I drop you from.”

*****************

Sanya sat in one of the chairs near the small stove, watching her father put another few lumps of coal into it. Her mother sat next to her, the right arm draped over the daughter's shoulder in a show of support and to try to calm her down. While the gesture was nice, nothing was making Litvyak feel any less nervous. Looking down at her watch, her anxiety ticked up another notch. _It's been almost an hour. It doesn't take that long to get to that bar. Even with the weather outside now, they should've come back by now._

“Don't be scared Sanya.” Anton stated as he sat down next to Ekaterina. “I'm confident that Aaron will make sure Eila's safe.”

“It'll be alright.” Ekaterina added, giving Sanya a squeeze.

The witch looked at her parents and weakly smiled before leaning back in the chair. _It's not just Eila's safety I'm worried about._ Suddenly, a series of hard knocks came at the front door. Sanya got out of her chair like she was fired from a cannon and pulled out her pistol. Whipping around on her heels, she put the index finger of her left hand to her lips, silently urging her mother and father to be quiet. They obeyed, but were very afraid as their daughter cocked the hammer and briskly walked over to the front door. _I hope it doesn't come to this, but if it's my family or me, I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect my family._ Litvyak got to the threshold and placed the gun up against the wood, knowing that if she fired at this range, the bullet would easily go through. Breathing in deep, she asked, “Who is it?”

“It's us Sanya.” Eila's voice replied.

Quickly, the Russian shoved the weapon in her side pocket, unlocked the door, and opened it. Standing before her was her friends, Divale and Juutilainen, their coats twinkling in the late day sun as the light reflected of the stray flakes of snow on their shoulders. Sanya couldn't contain her relief and joy and flung herself into Eila, who barely had enough time to open her arms and catch her. “Oh thank God you're alright. I was so worried for you.” she remarked, burying her face into Juutilainen's chest and bear hugging her for dear life.

The Finnish witch blushed. _I'm in heaven!_ The moment got a bit spoiled when the warlock cleared his throat and commented, “I'm sure you meant that you were worried about the other half of this equation too.” Eila's eyes flashed with annoyance and she glared at him. _Don't you dare interrupt!_

Litvyak rolled her eyes and let go of Eila who internally groaned in displeasure of having the moment pass far too soon. “Of course I meant you both.” she replied. “Now, get inside and tell us all about what happened.”

Juutilainen went in first with Sanya and Aaron followed after them, gently stomping his boots on the mat and taking off his coat. After placing it on the peg and making sure that his feet were decently dry enough, he walked into the living room and stretched his arms as best as he could given the small confines. Sanya and Eila sat down on the chairs and her parents were as overjoyed as their daughter was, smiles on their faces and small words of thanks on their lips. The moment that Divale stepped fully into the room, they stopped what they were doing and looked at him. _Guess I'm the one who must bear the good news. Better than bad news._ “I've taken care of everything. The NKVD will not trouble you anymore. You can sleep soundly.” he reported with a smile.

“How on earth did you manage that?” Anton inquired.

“We willingly let ourselves get duped by one of their agents and Aaron turned the tables on them with his magic.” Eila answered.

“And a healthy amount of persuasion.” Divale added with a wink.

“It must have been frightening being in that situation.” Ekaterina assumed.

The warlock shook his head. “Not at all. We were never in any real danger.” he replied.

“Regardless, that's twice you've helped us out Aaron.” Sanya observed, regarding him with admiration. “We really can't thank you enough.”

“Anytime.” Divale stated. Then, his stomach growled so loudly that one would think that a lion was nearby. “Speaking of time, who would like to come with me? There's a restaurant down the block that I passed on my way here. Anything you want is on me. My treat.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in France, Aaron meets up with Minna, Gertrude, and Erica and has lunch with them. During the meal, old friends introduce themselves and deliver both good and bad news.

_ **Chapter XXV: A Grand Day Out** _

_Much has changed in France since I've left it last. The skies are no longer dark and gray, law and order have mostly returned, and many parts of the major cities have been rebuilt. The country is alive once again. Let's see how alive it is._

Diary Entry July 15th 1944

“Ce sera trois cafés s’il vous plaît et nous allons avoir besoin de quelques minutes de plus (That will be three coffees please and we're going to need a few more minutes).” Minna explained to the busty brunette waitress who had come over. She nodded and immediately went off inside the inn to get the drinks. _I'm getting better at my French._ At the small table with the commander, one of the very few outside of the building, Gertrude and Erica sat looking over the menus and wondering what they should get. Barkhorn was her usual self, reading every single item on the menu while Erica looked like she just got of bed, even though that was several hours ago. She leaning back in her seat and having a hard time translating the French language.

“I honestly can't make heads or tails of this at all.” Hartmann whined.

“You've been in France for almost three months Erica and had plenty of time to learn the language.” Gertrude pointed out. “I don't feel sorry for you one bit.”

Wilcke ignored the predicable groan from the lieutenant and looked around. They were in the heart of the small city of St. Omer and the summer sun was burning bright and hot in the cloudless sky. It didn't bother the trio in the slightest as the enormous yellow umbrella above them caught the worse of the rays, casting a long shadow that went past the sidewalk and into the surprisingly busy streets. Up and down the road trucks bearing debris from ruined buildings that had yet to be fully cleared out sped along, driving by town cars from citizens that had ventured from the numerous Resistance hideouts throughout the immediate area. Some were in bad shape, plates of metal from tanks and halftracks welded on just to keep them from falling apart. Others were in decent condition and it led Minna to wonder if they had been stolen. In addition to the cars, people were out and about as well, enjoying the summer day in relative peace for the first time in well over a year.

 _They look so happy to have their country back. One day, I will have those smiles on my face._ Minna looked absentmindedly to the east, where just over twenty miles beyond the life of the city lay Ypres, the front lines, almost expecting to hear explosions and get an emergency message over the communicator. Barkhorn noticed what was happening right off the bat and knew why she was doing it, but still asked, “Are you still thinking about it Minna?”

Wilcke kept staring and replied, “We're so close to Germany Trude. So close I can see it for the first time in over half a year.”

Erica stared up from her menu and added, “Let's not think about that today commander. We still have until tomorrow morning to enjoy ourselves before we go back.”

“Same here.” a man's voice unexpectedly quipped from their blindside by the sidewalk. All the witches turn to regard this strange interrupter and their jaws dropped. Standing in his uniform, those silver lieutenant bars and glasses twinkling in the sun, was Aaron, looking down on them and smiling. His hair was done up in a short ponytail, one that was secured with thin black sewing thread. He gestured to the empty seat at the small table and inquired, “Gibt es Platz für eine weitere Minna (Is there room for one more Minna)?”

The German witch recovered from the shock at seeing an old friend quickly and nodded. “Nur wenn Sie für sich selbst bezahlen (Only if you pay for yourself).” she answered.

Divale sat down in the chair carefully lest he inadvertently break it. “Just pay for myself?” he queried with a sly wink.

“You better reconsider that Aaron.” Gertrude warned. “I'm very hungry.”

“Let him do what he wants Trude.” Erica countered, not taking her blue eyes off of the warlock. “Mm mm Aaron. Just when I thought you couldn't get anymore dark and handsome, you go and do this.”

“Nice to see that you haven't changed you black devil.” Aaron remarked. Everyone chuckled at the comment and the warlock glanced at each of his friends, relieved that they were alive and well. “Guess I got here just in time.” he stated.

“You on leave too?” Minna asked.

“I've been on leave since the eighth.” Aaron replied. “And boy did I need it.”

Wilcke furrowed her brow in concern. “Was North Africa really that bad?”

“Bad enough that we had to get a lot of replacement pilots.” Divale responded without mirth. The remark caused the table to go dead silent for a few moments as they processed the gravity of the situation.

“Who was left when you got there?” Barkhorn inquired, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Just Lieutenant Marseilles and Pilot Officer Pottgen.” Aaron answered. He thought back to when they all talked about what to expect in North Africa and he added, “You were right by the way. Look out for the bitch that is.”

“She's really not that bad.” Hartmann stated, waving her right hand dismissively. “I just ignored her ninety percent of the time.”

“Unless you manage to get on her bad side.” Gertrude pointed out. She looked over at the warlock and queried, “Did that happen to you?”

“That it did and I didn't do a God damn thing to deserve it other than showing up.” Divale explained. “Made my life a living hell from day one. However, I recently got her out of a jam and I think things will turn a corner when I get back.”

The German captain snorted derisively. “I'll believe it when I see it.” she mumbled.

Minna opened her mouth to admonish her subordinate for making such a statement, but the door to the inn opened up and out stepped the waitress holding a tray with four steaming cups of fresh coffee on saucers. A loaf of sugar and a small cup of cream sat next to four teaspoons. She swooped in and placed the tray down in the center of the table. “Il y avait un peu d’un overpour et nous avons décidé de vous donner le supplément sur la maison (There was a bit of an overpour and we decided to give you the extra on the house).” she explained. Aaron looked at her out of curiosity and two made eye contact. _Now wait a second. This woman looks and sounds familiar. Oh shit! She's was the one from that wedding! What was her name?_ It didn't take long for the waitress to recognize him and she gasped in amazement. “Mon Dieu, c’est toi ! Le Saint ! C’est moi Adrienne ! Tu ne te souviens pas ? Le mariage (My God, it's you! The Saint! It's me Adrienne! Don't you remember?! The wedding)?!” she blurted.

 _Answers that question._ _Play it cool._ “Bien sûr que je fais Adrienne (Of course I do Adrienne).” Divale replied. “C’est bon de te voir bien. Ils sont toujours ensemble (It's good to see you well. Are they still together)?”

“Elle attend en novembre. Le docteur dit que c’est des jumeaux (She's expecting in November. Doctor says it's twins).” Adrienne answered, her face and eyes marveling at seeing him again. “Tu manges (Are you eating)?” she asked.

“Que recommandez-vous (What do you recommend)?” the warlock inquired.

“La quiche de bœuf et de cheddar a été faite fraîche ce matin. C’est très bon (The beef and cheddar quiche was made fresh this morning. It's very good).” Adrienne illuminated.

“Je vais prendre deux tranches s’il vous plaît (I'll take two slices please).” Aaron responded. “Quant au chèque, je m’en occuperai (As for the check, I'll handle it).”

“Ça m’a l’air bien. Je vais prendre une part de cette quiche aussi (That sounds good to me. I'll have a slice of that quiche as well).” Minna decided.

“Je vais en prendre deux (I'll take two of that).” Gertrude piped up.

“J’en veux juste un s’il vous plaît (I just want one please).” Erica quipped.

The waitress nodded and began picking up the menus. As she went over to pick up Wilcke's, she leaned in close to Aaron's left ear and whispered flirtatiously, “C’est bon de te revoir saint. Mon quart de travail s’en remet dans un moment si ça t’intéresse (It's nice to see you again saint. My shift gets over with in a little while if you're interested).”

Aaron low key cocked his eyebrow and whispered back, “Tant que vous m’aurez le journal d’aujourd’hui, gardez ma présence ici secrète, et promettez que vous n’aurez pas de jus de cerise partout, je l’envisagerai (As long as you get me today's paper, keep my presence here a secret, and promise that you won't get cherry juice everywhere, I'll consider it).” She smiled and slowly walked away, subtly swaying her hips as she did so.

Erica stared at Aaron and declared, “I may not have understood a whole lot of that exchange, but I'm pretty certain that you need to save some room for dessert.”

Not wasting time to add her two cents in, Minna asked, “Old friend of yours?”

Divale reached for one of the cups of coffee and breathed in the aroma. _Oh my God, it's the real deal. Today is my lucky day. Meeting old friends, getting reacquainted with the locals, real coffee, and a decent lunch. Guess every dog has his day._ “We have met.” he said, slowly bringing the java to his lips and taking a long sip.

“A wedding am I right? Possibly the one in Beauvais?” Wilcke nonchalantly queried with a sly smile to her face.

 _What?!_ Shock set in and the warlock barely had the sense to put down the cup of coffee before turning his head to the side and exploding into a coughing fit, flecks of brown flying out of his mouth towards the pavement. Several hard coughs and chest clearings later, he regarded his former superior officer wide eyed. _She knows French?! Oh fuck my life._ “How in the world did you know that?” he uttered in a low voice.

“Lynette gave me a full report on your outing with her and her sister.” the commander replied matter of factly.

“I also read it.” Hartmann chimed. “You were a naughty boy. Saying such lewd things in front of drunk women and dancing seductively with Lynn's mom.”

“The bal musette is hardly what one would call a seductive dance.” Aaron shot back.

“Not the way you dance it. At least from what Bishop described.” Barkhorn playfully jabbed.

Divale crossed his arms over his chest and sarcastically replied, “And to think you are considered my friends.” His words made the table laugh

After getting the last of the chuckles out of her, Minna looked over at the warlock, now a lieutenant and stated, “Congratulations on your promotion by the way.” She then suddenly remembered something and reached into her right breast pocket. The witch pulled out a small red box with faux gold trim on the sides. “This came in just before we sat down for lunch, courtesy of Prime Minister Churchill himself. I intended to send this to you by post, but since you're here.” Wilcke placed it on the table and slid it over to him. Aaron furrowed his brow as he used his right hand to open the mysterious box. Everyone at the table leaned in to see his reaction. Once the top was removed, Divale found himself staring at a silver gilt cross shaped medal with curved ends, further enameled in white and edged with more gilt. In the center of the cross, within a green enameled laurel wreath, was the imperial crown in gold upon a red enameled background. There was a small ring above it where it connected with the suspension bar where in the center, was a gold ribbon bar with a single crown. The last bar, one that one would use to clasp it to the uniform was the same design, the two bars separated by a thin ribbon with a wide streak of red with blue edges. Off to the side of the award was a small white card which read: For distinguished services during active operations against the enemy, his royal majesty King George VI, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth and Emperor of India, doth declare the presentation of the Distinguished Service Order to Lieutenant Aaron Divale of the 501st JFW in light of his exemplary bravery and gallantry in the face of the enemy during Operation Pale Rider and the defense of the British Isles from the Leviathan on this date of the fifteenth of July 1944.

“Holy shit.” the warlock muttered under his breath as he took it out of the box with his right hand.

Minna took up her cup of coffee and Gertrude and Erica copied the gesture. “I propose a toast. To our hero.” she proclaimed, raising her cup in unison with the others. Aaron quickly raised his with his left hand and clinked the delicate porcelain gently and together, the quartet drank.

After his sip, he looked down at the medal and meekly smiled. “Hero.” he uttered in a low voice. Then, to the astonishment of all, he pinned the DSO on the left side of his uniform. When he was done, he admired the sight for a bit before stating, “I think I like the sound of that.” If the table was silent before, this time, they were floored to the point where you could hear ones heart beating.

“Who are you and what did you do with the real Aaron Divale?” Gertrude inquired, eyes wide in shock.

“I'm still he,” Divale admitted with a grin, “just seeing the world in a different way.”

Wilcke stared at the young man before her and couldn't help but feel proud. _He's turned a corner. He's accepting his accomplishments. About damn time._ “I'm glad to see that of the reports I received about you, Lynette's is more true to life than Francesca's. The latter said that you looked like a local with your long hair and thick beard. That, and you were quite the drinker and smoker.” she pointed out.

“I was going through a bit of a rough patch from what happened at Dover, but I got over it.” the warlock acknowledged. He then noticed Adrienne walk out of the inn with a covered tray. “But I won't be getting over how wonderful this looks.” he added, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“The food or the girl?” Hartmann asked with an evil smile.

“No comment.” Aaron replied.

Adrienne got to the table and placed the tray down in the center. With her right hand, she grabbed the lid by the handle and pulled it up and away. Arranged on tiny white porcelain plates were six thick slices of quiche with forks and napkins off to the side. “Profiter (Enjoy).” she happily stated. “Si l’un d’entre vous a besoin de quelque chose ou veulent un dessert, s’il vous plaît donner un cri (If any of you need anything or want some dessert, please give a holler).” The waitress then turned away and strolled back to the inn, but not before giving Aaron a seductive wink and smile.

The commander noticed it right away and shot Divale with a sideways glance. “Not at the table please.” she remarked.

 _Wouldn't be the weirdest place that I've done that sort of thing._ The warlock raised his hands in mock surrender and held them aloft for a few seconds before taking his two slices of quiche, a napkin, and a fork from the tray. He set them down and began to eat. Aaron cut of a chuck and popped it in his mouth. The taste was most agreeable and he moaned in pleasure. “I've missed France so very much.” he uttered with his mouth full.

Minna swallowed her bite and wiped her face with a napkin. “I agree. The food is exactly the way I remember it.” she said. “So how long do you have left for your leave lieutenant?”

“No clue.” Divale replied. “They said they would contact me when it's time to report back, but I've haven't heard anything. It's been a week though and I've spent it very well by visiting old friends.”

“So that means you've seen other people beforehand.” Erica deduced, pointing her fork at him like a dagger. “Who was it?”

“I helped out Francesca and Shirley with an operation and I met Lynette at Gibraltar.” the warlock answered.

“What did you all do?” Gertrude asked.

“I can't talk about it. It's classified.” Aaron replied sincerely.

That remark killed the subject, but didn't end the conversation. “What about some of the other ladies?” Wilcke inquired.

Divale hacked out a large portion of quiche and ate it. This time, he chewed and swallowed his food before responding, “I did see Mio and Yoshika in Japan and Eila and Sanya in Russia.”

Barkhorn took up her cup of coffee and queried, “How is Yoshika doing?”

“Oh she's fine. Miyafuji is helping take care of her family's clinic with her mother and grandmother. When I arrived, I learned that the major and warrant officer were going to join them for supper so that made it easy to see them all at once.” the warlock replied.

“And what of Mio and Hijikata?” the commander asked.

“Both are good. Keisuke is doing really well after his surgery and is obeying my instructions to the letter.” Aaron answered.

“Is Major Sakamoto still at the Flight Instruction School in Yokohama?” Minna probed. Divale opened his mouth to answer, but decided at the last second to keep mum about it. _Might be a bad idea to tell her friend that she's thinking about going back int the air again._ Wilcke furrowed her brow, recognizing what was going on and leaned in. “Is there something wrong lieutenant? You wouldn't be keeping something from your former superior officer and friend now would you?” she pressed, looking right into his eyes.

Aaron swallowed hard. “She resigned her post when I got there.” he finally admitted. Minna's eyes flashed. _What?! She resigned! Does she even know how much I hard I had to push and how many favors I had to call in to get her there?! When I see her again, we're going to have a little talk._ “It gets worse than that.” the warlock continued. “She forged a new sword, one that is imbued with magic. I think she's training in how to use it in a way that will allow her to deflect beams and kill Neuroi.” Wilcke leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair. _God damn it all Mio._ “I know it wasn't what you wanted to hear, but you two are close and as her friend you deserve to know.” Divale added, trying to allay her fears.

Sighing hard the German witch shook her head a few times and simply muttered, “I appreciate it lieutenant.”

“What about Sanya and Eila?” Erica piped up, trying to change the subject. “How are they doing?”

“They're alright. When I found them, they were both staying at the Litvyak's house in Salekhard. Couldn't really stay long because they had to go up to Vorkuta in the morning. Some of the other JFWs are currently experiencing a pilot shortage.”

Those last two words made Gertrude put on a thoughtful face. “A pilot shortage caused by possible transfers to the 31st JFS Afrika I'm sure.” she remarked. “If you don't mind me asking, who else is with you besides Marseilles and Pottgen?”

Aaron wolfed down the rest of his quiche, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, there is Eila's older sister Aurora, Lynette's older sister Wilma along with her friends Hanna and Elizabeth, Amelie Planchard and Juliette Deveraux from the 114th that we saved in France, and three non witch personnel.” he rattled off.

The three witches looked at each other warily after mentioned three non witch personnel. Though not completely unheard of, mixed units were normally only reserved for much larger squadrons. Sometimes they worked well, but most of the time they caused problems and scandals. “Who exactly are those three?” Minna inquired.

“All three have a connection with Operation Pale Rider. There's Edmund Peterborough, Wilma's husband, Audie Murphy, the American who helped out tremendously and-” Divale started to answer. He paused at the end and looked furtively over his shoulders to make sure that no one was listening in. Gesturing for them to come in closer with a crooking of his right index finger, he whispered, “Helga Von Kreiger.”

At the mention of the name, Wilcke's eyes widened in shock and her blood ran cold as the memories of what happened in the Dover Castle cell blocks came roaring back. She put her arms over her chest, feeling that man's filthy hands molesting her once again from beyond the grave. _Has the world gone fucking mad? Using criminals as soldiers?_ Looking up at the warlock she swallowed hard and queried, “How in the hell did she get transferred there?”

“By being smart.” Aaron simply replied. “Out of all the survivors, she was the only one that pleaded guilty and threw herself on the mercy of the court. They gave her a choice: Die in the field or the courtyard. If she did her duty, there would be a slight chance of commuting her sentence. She took the former and they shipped her out the same day. Everyone else got shot.”

“I know they were hurting for replacements, but did they have to bring the likes of her in?” Hartmann asked, not liking the decision at all.

“I certainly wouldn't have her serve again, not after what her brother did and tried to do.” Barkhorn emphatically stated.

“Believe me folks, I didn't like it either when I found out, but what was done was done and there was nothing I could do about it. For the first few weeks I didn't so much as look at her. Pretty much the only one that came to her defense was Audie. Ticked me off, but whatever. Things changed after I learned why she did what she did. I won't get into details because I don't like talking about such things, but suffice it say that she was manipulated, used, and abused by her brother. That and she was legitimately sorry for what happened and wanted to make amends.” Divale clarified.

 _That may be Aaron, but I most certainly wouldn't want to see her ever again._ “So you really can't talk about what happened in North Africa at all?” Minna asked.

“No.” the warlock flatly answered. “At least not until it's over.” At that moment, his nose detected the scent of burning tobacco. Normally, he wouldn't care about such things, but this odor triggered something within him, creating a gnawing sensation in his mind. _Why do I have the feeling that this particular smell belongs to someone I know?_ Curious, he turned around in his chair and saw, much to his surprise, two people that he never expected to hold hands. Walking down the street, smiling without a single care in the world, were Gaston Leclerc and Lucille. The old sea captain was clean shaven now and was dressed in and tan two piece suit with slacks, a white undershirt, black shoes, and a red tie. He still had his captain's cap and in his right hand held his carved walnut pipe. As for Lucille, her hair was whiter, but her matronly beauty was still there. The old green dress was replaced with a light red and she wore a gold necklace and small black heels. _Son of a bitch!_ Aaron bolted out of his chair and gaped in amazement. “Sorry, but I have to do this.” he quickly apologized to his friends. He placed his hands upon his waist and trotted up to the elderly pair. At first, his presence wasn't noticed, the duo having the time of their life walking down the street, however, his large form caught the eye of the grizzled old man and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Mère de Dieu ! C’est toi Aaron (Mother of God! Is that you Aaron)?!” Gaston asked, not truly believing what he was seeing.

Lucille placed her hands over her mouth and her eyes widened as Divale came closer and closer. “Dieu gracieux Aaron! Tu as changé (Goodness gracious Aaron! You've changed)!” she muttered, equally incredulous.

“C’est moi mes vieux amis (It's me my old friends).” the warlock remarked with a broad smile as he finally got up to them and gave Leclerc a firm shake.

“Qu’est-ce qui vous ramène en France jeune homme (What brings you back to France young man)?” Gaston inquired as he let go.

“Je suis en congé en ce moment et j’ai décidé de revenir voir comment les choses allaient avec la reconstruction (I'm on leave right now and decided to come back to see how things were going with the reconstruction).” Aaron replied, giving the traditional side kiss greeting to Lucille.

“Si je ne savais pas mieux, j’aurais pensé que tu étais une femme (If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought that you were a woman).” Lucille commented, gesturing to Aaron's hair.

Divale chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “J’ai eu ça souvent, mais je pense que ça va (I've been getting that a lot, but I think it's alright).” He then turned and saw the witches looking at each other trying to guess what was going on. Whipping right around, he asked Gaston, “Vous êtes occupés en ce moment ? Il y a des gens que je veux que tu rencontres (Are you two busy at the moment? There's some people I want you to meet).”

“Ça ne me dérange pas du tout (I don't mind at all in the slightest).” Leclerc agreed, taking a puff from his pipe. “Avancez (Lead on).” Together, the trio walked to the others.

When they were close enough, the warlock introduced them. “Ladies,” he announced, “these are some of my good friends from the Resistance cell in Lille, Gaston Leclerc and Lucille. These are my former squadron members. From right to left we have Commander Minna Dietlinde Wilcke, Captain Gertrude Barkhorn, and Lieutenant Erica Hartmann.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you Prefect Leclerc.” Minna stated, extending her right hand.

“Ah,” Gaston remarked, accepting the handshake, “you've heard of me?”

“You were mention in the after action reports.” Wilcke clarified. She then added, “How long have you two been married?”

That statement made Aaron's eyes bulge in shock and he looked down at Gaston's and Lucille's left hands. His jaw dropped when he saw the two wedding bands around the ring fingers, his in gold and hers in silver. _Married?! Them?!_ Gesturing with his right hand, he inquired, “When did this happen?”

“It was shortly after the liberation.” Lucille explained, holding her husband's hand. “He helped me as I was getting everything from my restaurant to the surface for three whole days. Never accepted any reward for his labor. Once we found a building that was suitable, cleaned it out, and got everything situated, he just gets on a knee and holds up this ring on my hand, asking me if I wanted to marry him. To be honest, I was so shocked. I never thought at my age that I'd be considered beautiful enough to get married again.”

“Nonsense my dear.” Gaston countered, giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek. “You are a fine wine. Any woman would be jealous of your beauty if they were your age.”

Lucille blushed and Divale took a small step away from them, marveling at the sight. _Tis a small world after all._ “I'm glad to see you both happy. You deserve it.” he commented, meaning every word. “Are you still the prefect Leclerc?”

“For now I am,” Gaston replied, “but I'm probably going to step down after the new year.” He cast a quick glance at Minna and added, “I'm getting too old to argue politics with the military.”

The warlock saw it and felt the tension in the air between the old man and the young woman. _Now why is this?_ “But I'm still running my restaurant.” Lucille proudly declared. “Oh Aaron, you must come over sometime. It's a wonderful place and the food is even better now that I have real equipment to work with.”

“I'll definitely do that.” Aaron decided. “I'll even bring a friend.” The last word echoed in his mind for a lot longer than it should've and he realized why. _Friend... St Omer... Celeste._ Regarding Gaston, he inquired, “Do you happen to know where Celeste Dubois is? You remember? The red headed woman with the young daughter? She was stationed at St Omer when me and Major Sakamoto came to France four months ago.” Leclerc's forehead furrowed as he thought about it and shortly after finding the answer, his face visibly darkened. _Oh no._

“Regrettably my friend, Celeste Dubois passed away in her sleep three days ago. The cancer won.” the old prefect replied sadly. “She's buried on the northern outskirts of the city if you wanted to pay respects.”

The news hurt, but Divale bore it well. _It was going to happen sooner or later._ “Do you know where her daughter Marie is?” he queried.

Lucille pointed to the west, down a long street. “Go down three blocks and hang a left. Keep going until you cross the trolley tracks and then go right. The house is the only one on the left side that's occupied. You'll know you're at the right one because you'll see a small French flag hanging from the mailbox. Many of those who were at the St Omer Resistance outpost are there now.” she instructed.

“Thank you Lucille.” the warlock stated, very grateful for the directions. He turned to face everyone and said, “I'm sorry I have to leave you all, but I have to do this.” With that, he quickly went up the road without saying a word. Despite that, Aaron looked over his right shoulder and waved goodbye. His friends returned the gesture and he faced front, mulling over what Marie was going through now with her mother gone.

When Leclerc got tired of waving, he gave his wife's hand a gentle squeeze. “And with that my dear I think we should get going as well.” he advised. He looked over at Commander Wilcke and tipped his cap. “Have a pleasant rest of your day.” he stated.

Minna was about to reply, but the door to the inn burst open. It drew everyone's attention to the sound and out of the inn ran Adrienne, holding a newspaper in her hands. When she got to the table, her eyes darted this way and that. “Do any of you know where Aaron went? I completely forgot that he wanted the paper.” she asked.

*****************

Aaron drew his long hair over towards the front of his body and looked downwards, using his mane to protect himself from being recognized. _It's not like I want to be seen, but I have far more important things to do right now than chit chat. I need to see if Marie is okay. Calm down Aaron. Celeste had a lot of friends in that Resistance cell and in others. They would've made sure that the child would be cared for._ Walking along the right side of the sidewalk, he casually glanced up at the buildings he passed. Many were abandoned save for workers who busied themselves in removing the debris, carting overflowing wheelbarrows out the front door or out the other side of the wall. Some places were gone, the surface planed smooth by bulldozers. The precious few that remained standing had barely any exterior markings indicating that they were inhabited. On occasion, one would be able to see movement through the curtainless windows, but nothing truly substantial. Oddly enough, Divale began to notice that the further he got away from the heart of the city, the more devoid of activity it became. _Strange. It seems like people are either not here or too afraid to come out._ It made him very uneasy, but he shrugged his shoulders and the worries away, knowing that he could do nothing about it. It was then that he spotted the trolley tracks just as a small open air trolley car ran on past, the conductor ringing his bell to warn pedestrians and drivers alike of the danger. It was carrying soldiers in full uniform, most of them French, and all of them very young, not much older than seventeen. Just before it disappeared around the corner, a soldier looked over at Aaron with scared tired brown eyes. The warlock knew that look very well. _It was the same one I had when I was freed, yet only made to fight a war that I didn't want any part of._ Divale stood at attention and gave the frightened soldier a salute, showing solidarity. The young man understood and nodded in thanks.

And then, it was gone. The trolley car, the soldier, everything vanished from sight and Aaron continued on his way, hanging a right just as Lucille had told them. Gazing down the street, he saw that the entire right side was nothing but a gigantic heap of brick, metal beams, and stone blocks that workers had deposited there for use later. Tall chain link fences with barbed wire at the top wrapped around the whole site, protecting it from looters. _Not a bad idea. The amount you'd get from scrapping that steel and iron would be worth a small fortune to some desperate folks._ He crossed the street, his steps that much more lively and quicker as he neared his destination. Again, it was the same familiar sight. Curtainless windows, no signs of life. On and on he walked until he finally came to the house that he was searching for. It was surprisingly large for an urban dwelling, double the width of Lucretia's old flat in London. It was only half painted blue, the concrete marked with blue blobs and footprints. Unlike the other houses he saw before, there were actual curtains in the windows. Fluttering gently in the breeze was the small French flag, hanging by a small hook on the tin mailbox. He got to the door and knocked on it three times with his right hand.

“C'est qui (Who is it)?” a male voice asked.

“Le Saint de Calais (The Saint of Calais).” Aaron answered, lowering his glasses a tad so that he could easily prove who he was. The door slowly opened, a pair of beady brown eyes regarding him with suspicion. It didn't take long for the person to recognize him and the door flew open, revealing a rather portly man with a red handkerchief around his neck. _I know this man. It's that conductor that took us to Lille._ “Ça fait un moment que mon ami (It's been a while my friend).” he remarked, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The conductor took a gander outside, looking both ways up and down the street and bade him to come in. “Je crois que tu as entendu parler de Celeste (I take it you heard about Celeste)?” he asked as he shut the door after Divale stepped past the threshold.

“C’est ce que j’ai fait (That I did).” the warlock replied. “J’aurais aimé être là, mais je ne suis pas trop triste à ce sujet. Elle est dans un meilleur endroit maintenant, libre de la douleur et de la peur. Où est sa fille Marie (Wish I could've been there, but I'm not too sad about it. She's in a better place now, free from pain and fear. Where's her daughter Marie)?”

“Elle est en haut, mais (She's upstairs but)-” the man tried to explain, but the moment that Aaron heard those first two words, he was moving like the wind. He became a human blur as he whizzed on past the living room, bounded up the stairs, blazing past curious and bewildered onlookers, blitzed down the hallway, all the while searching frantically for the child.

“Imago calor.” he intoned. His vision went from a fairly colorful hallway with small pictures on either wall to a dull mix of gray and black save for three blobs of orange and red. Divale concentrated on the heat signatures, walking up towards the doors which they were behind. Two of them were in the same area, lying in what seemed to be a bed, not so much as moving. _Too big for a child._ By process of elimination, the warlock determined that the last one had to Marie. Killing the spell, he briskly walked up to the door that he knew she was behind and tested the knob. It wasn't locked and he turned the knob, pushing open the door with his right hand. The room was small with a low wood ceiling and little in the way of furnishings. Save for a tiny toy chest, a chair, and a bed that looked as though it was once a bench once upon a time, there was nothing to contrast with the green wallpaper and white trim. Aaron detected movement on the bed, the thin sheets rhythmically going up and down slowly. At the angle where he was, he couldn't see her so he trotted on into the room, ducking down so his head wouldn't grind against the ceiling. It took him all of two and a half steps to get to the bed. Kneeling down, he reached out with his right hand and carefully peeled back the covers. Under the sheets, in a true white dress, her red hair slightly over her jaw, was Marie, sleeping soundly like the angel she was. Upon seeing her, Divale found it very hard to hold back his tears of joy. _I promised you that we'd meet again little one._ “Marie?” he whispered, brushing the hair off her face. “Vous m'entendez?? C’est moi Aaron. Réveillez-vous. Laisse-moi te parler (Can you hear me? It's me Aaron. Wake up. Let me talk to you).”

A series of footsteps behind him, made his head whip around out of concern and annoyance. At the threshold was the former conductor, panting with his large hands on his knees, sweat dripping off his brow. “Avec tout le respect dû saint (With all due respect saint),” he wheezed while standing upright, “S’ll vous plaît, ne la réveillez pas. Depuis la mort de sa mère, la pauvre a été inconsolable. Elle va à peine une heure avant de fondre en larmes. À peine mange ou dort et crie constamment pour sa mère. Déchirant à écouter. C’est devenu si mauvais avec elle que nous avons dû avoir un médecin venir pour lui donner une aide au sommeil afin qu’elle puisse obtenir une nuit complète de sommeil (please don't wake her up. Ever since her mother died, the poor thing's been inconsolable. She hardly goes a hour before breaking down into tears. Hardly eats or sleeps and screams for her mother constantly. Heartbreaking to listen to. It's gotten so bad with her that we had to have a doctor come over to give her a sleep aid so that she could get a full nights sleep).”

Suddenly, Marie stirred a tad in the bed and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “Maman? Où es-tu maman ? Réveillez-vous, s’il vous plaît. J'ai peur. J'aimerais te voir. Réveille maman (Mama? Where are you Mama? Please wake up. I'm scared. I want to see you. Wake up Mama).” she murmured in her sleep.

Heartbreak or any word describing the feeling would've been inadequate to convey the sense of despair that came over the warlock. _When I lost Larissa, I was barely able to get over her death. Back then however, I was probably fifteen at most. Can't imagine how long it will take a seven year old child._ Recognizing that it was for the best to let her sleep, Aaron placed the sheets near her neck, wiped the tear from her cheek with his right index finger, and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Je te verrai plus tard Marie. je promet (I will see you later Marie. I promise).” he whispered, standing up.

“Avant sa mort (Before she died),” the portly man stated in a low voice, reaching into his right pants pocket, “Celeste a écrit une lettre. Elle m’a dit que c’était pour toi (Celeste wrote a letter. She told me that it was for you).” After a second of fishing around, he pulled out an envelope and presented it to Divale. The warlock took it from him with his left hand and turned it over and around. There was no stamp or exterior marking save for his name written in black ink. His mouth went dry and his hand started to shake and sweat, his mind going back to the last time they met. _I know why you did that._ With a heavy heart, Aaron opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. Unfolding it, it read: **Cher Aaron. Quand cette lettre vous arrivera, je serai partie de ce monde et ma fille sera toute seule. Bien qu’il m’attriste que ce jour est venu, je suis d’accord avec la notion de transmettre. Bientôt, je ne connaîtrarai plus la douleur et le chagrin. Cependant, cela laisse toujours Marie sans quelqu’un pour s’occuper d’elle, sans quelqu’un qui l’aime autant que moi. Malgré nos arguments à l’époque quand vous lui avez sauvé la vie, j’ai compris pourquoi vous avez dit ce que vous avez dit et je ne vous blâme pas. Tu voulais vraiment ce qui était le mieux pour elle, même si tu n’avais pas le droit de prendre ces décisions et qu’elle n’était pas la tienne. Maintenant, alors que je mourais, je pense que parmi tous les hommes que je pensais avoir été un remplacement adéquat pour son vrai père, vous étiez le seul qui mesurait. Je veux que tu t’occupes de Marie Aaron. Emmenez-la dans un endroit sûr et élevez-la comme la vôtre. Aidez-la à grandir et à comprendre que sa mère est partie, mais qu’elle veillera toujours sur elle pour toujours. Sois le père qu’elle mérite. Sincèrement Celeste** ( **Dear Aaron. By the time this letter reaches you, I will be gone from this world and my daughter will be all alone. Though it saddens me that this day has come, I'm alright with the notion of passing on. Soon I will not know pain and sorrow anymore. However, that still leaves Marie without someone to look after her, without someone who loves her as much as I do. Despite our arguments back then when you saved her life, I understood why you said what you said and I don't blame you. You truly wanted what was best for her, even though you had no right to make those decisions and she wasn't yours. Now, as I lay dying, I feel that out of all the men that I thought would've been an adequate replacement for her true father, you were the only one that measured up. I want you to take care of Marie Aaron. Take her somewhere safe and raise her as your own. Help her grow and understand that her mother is gone, but will always watch over her forever. Be the father that she deserves. Sincerely Celeste).**

Tears fell down on the paper, and Divale wept silently. _Oh Celeste. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why?_ He sniffled back the tears, folded up the letter, and placed it in his right breast pocket. The conductor placed his right hand on his shoulder, saying nothing, but knowing that he was doing his best to calm the vaunted Saint of Calais down. “Y a-t-il quelque chose dont vous avez besoin (Is there anything you need)?” he asked.

Thinking about it, Divale pulled out the pen from his back pocket and inquired, “Avez-vous une radio qui peut recevoir des transmissions (Do you have a radio that can receive transmissions)?” The man nodded and the warlock began scribbling furiously on the envelope. When he was done he handed it over to the conductor, saying, “C’est ma fréquence de comm. Dès que Marie se réveille, je veux que tu me contactes immédiatement (This is my comm frequency. The moment Marie wakes up, I want you to contact me immediately).” The man nodded again and stepped out of the way, allowing him to exit the room without a sound. Strolling back on through the house, putting the pen back into his back pants pocket, his mind started to make a plan. _There must be a place where she'll be safe, but where?_ It didn't take long to get back to the front door and he reached for the knob to let himself out. However, before his outstretched fingers could wrap around the brass, it suddenly opened up and Aaron came face to face with Adrienne. “Adrienne? Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici (Adrienne? What are you doing here)?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“J’ai oublié de te donner ton journal que tu as demandé (I forgot to give you your paper that you asked for).” Adrienne explained, holding it out to him.

Divale smiled and shook his head in disbelief. _She came all this way just to give me a paper. That's dedication._ Taking it from her hands, he said, “Merci beaucoup. J’apprécie (Thank you very much. I appreciate it).”

Adrienne smiled and leaned in. “J’apprécierais aussi que tu me rendes visite ce soir. J’habite à droite sur ce virage, première maison sur la droite (I'd also appreciate it if you could pay me a visit tonight. I live right on that turn off, first house on the right).” she whispered seductively.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A monster stalks the night and an angel of vengeance takes flight in hot pursuit, but will the chase yield a happy ending?

_ **Chapter XXVI: The Ultimate Sin** _

_As I witnessed the spies getting sent off to the firing squad, I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They were only doing their job after all. How can they be punished this way? How cruel do you have to be to turn your guns on your own people? I hope that those shooters were given an extra ration of vodka for their efforts, anything to drown out the sins they just committed. I also hope that this will be the last time I ever do this to another human being._

Diary Entry August 9th 1940

“It's just going to be one bonbon.” Erica complained as she walked down the stairs with Gertrude, a lit candle in a holder in her right hand. “I'll work that off tomorrow when we get back to Ypres.”

Barkhorn however didn't think so one bit and retorted, “With you it's never just one bonbon. That, and if you eat this late at night, you'll be tossing and turning for hours.”

“Then I'll take a sleep aid if it's such a big deal to you.” Hartmann countered. The captain thought about pressing the matter further, but reluctantly decided to let it go. _There's no changing her mind when sweets are involved._ As the pair continued to descend down the steps, Getrude looked down at her watch. The hands read 19:00, but judging by the lack of light coming in from the windows, the sun had already set. _Very strange for this time of year. The days should be longer._ The sounds of heavy footsteps could be heard going from one side of the rapidly approaching bar area to the other side of the dining room. It made the witches stop dead in their tracks and they looked at each other with puzzled looks. Both of them knew that besides themselves and Minna, they were the only guests at this particular inn. “That's probably just the innkeeper getting some things taken care of.” Erica suggested.

“If so, than that's an even better reason to forego the bonbon.” Gertrude remarked.

Hartmann pouted and continued walking down the stairs. Despite her sour mood at having her friend constantly deny her what she wanted, the lieutenant couldn't help but feel a deep sense of curiosity. _What could the innkeeper possibly be doing this late at night? It's not like we make a big mess or anything. Shouldn't take a lot of time to clean up after us and get affairs in order._ Soon, the bottom of the stairs was revealed by the candlelight and the duo gingerly stepped down the last step lest they fall clumsily. It didn't take long for them to notice two other lights in the room. The first was over by the bar where the old innkeeper was pouring a small glass of wine by candlelight. His aged hands were steady as a rock and his pour was fair as the red liquid swirled in the glass. When he was done, he picked it up carefully in his right hand, walked around the bar, and towards the second light. The lit candle was in a holder on a table where, sitting in the only chair, was Aaron, a lit cigarette in his right hand, the smoke from the cherry twisting like gray snakes in the air. He was looking at the flames, watching them flicker and burn. Near his left hand was a folded newspaper. The innkeeper placed the glass on the table and stated, “Stay as long as need be. No charge.”

“Thank you.” Aaron replied. Satisfied, the innkeeper then turned and saw the two witches standing there looking at them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Erica hastily waved him off, ignoring the bonbon question for now. _What on earth is Aaron doing here? Why does he look troubled? Is something the matter?_

Meanwhile at the table, Divale sighed heavily and took another drag from his cigarette, shaking his head. On his walk back from the house where Marie was living in, his mind was awash with questions, questions that he didn't have a lot of answers to. It aggravated him to no end. _I shouldn't have this much trouble in finding a solution to this. What is wrong with me? Is it because I'm afraid of taking on the responsibility? Why? Celeste wouldn't have given Marie to me if she didn't think I was ready. Maybe it's because I'm afraid of her safety and well being. That's got to be it. With the front lines so close to here, this place could get attacked very easily. She needs to be taken out of here, but where? The bigger cities behind the lines wouldn't be too bad of an idea, but Celeste had no extended family to speak of and I doubt there would be someone there that she would've known or was at the St Omer outpost. I can't just leave her with someone I don't know and I don't want to just stick her inside an orphanage. Fucking hell. She can't stay, but she can't go anywhere else. Come on Aaron, think damn you, think._ “Aaron?” a woman's voice asked, knocking him back to reality. His eyes darted upwards and he saw the shadowy faces of Erica and Gertrude in the low light, concern evident on both their faces. “Are you okay?” Hartmann inquired.

“I'm just having a bit of a hard time.” the warlock replied as Gertrude busied herself with finding and hauling two chairs towards the table where he was sitting at, one in either hand. Barkhorn set them both down and the two witches sat down with their friend.

“Is it Celeste?” the captain queried, knowing full well that Aaron had a hard time with it so many times.

“No,” Aaron answered, taking a sip of wine from his glass, “it's about her daughter Marie. She's been having a hard time dealing with her mother's death and the doctor came by today to give her something to help her sleep. I told them to contact me as soon as she wakes up, but so far I've heard nothing.” After he set his glass down, he took out the letter from his front breast pocket and handed it over to them. Gertrude took it, unfolded the letter carefully, and began to read.

Her eyes widened as she translated the words, the impact of what Divale was dealing with hitting her hard. “My God Aaron. I don't know what to say.” she simply stated.

“What does it say?” Erica asked.

“Celeste has given her daughter over to Aaron to take care of.” Barkhorn explained.

Hartmann gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth in shock. “What are you going to do Aaron? You're a soldier on active duty. You can't take her with you. Where is she going to go?” she inquired.

“I honestly have no fucking clue ladies.” Divale responded with a dejected voice, shaking his head helplessly. “I know I can't take her with me to North Africa. That's an absolute no go. That place is way too dangerous for her. I can't let her stay here because we're so close to the front, but the problem with that is Celeste had no extended family and I'm not comfortable with taking her to one of the bigger cities or villages in the interior of France and having a complete stranger watch over her.”

The German lieutenant swallowed hard and leaned in. “I think you might have to consider putting her in an orphanage.” she advised.

“Marie doesn't do very well with other kids and with her mother dead, I don't think those caretakers are capable of handling it.” the warlock countered.

Suddenly, Gertrude's eyes flashed as a thought came to her mind. She snapped her fingers loudly and hastily informed, “I think I know a place where you can take her Aaron. You can take her over to Perrine's chateau in Agincourt. She's built an orphanage there to take care of those children who lost their families to the war. I sent Christiane over there once we disbanded and she helps take great care of them. It would be perfect for her Aaron.”

“Yeah,” Erica agreed, “and that would make it so you have an excuse to see your old wingman. She does miss you, you know.”

“Indeed.” another voice boomed from behind them, causing Erica to yelp in fear. Three heads turned and saw in the faint glow of the candles Minna, standing near the wall with her hands on her hips, glaring at her subordinates. “And speaking of miss, I figured that given what we did today that you'd both be missing your beds. What brings you two out and about at such an ungodly hour?”

Barkhorn wasted no time in throwing Hartmann under the proverbial bus. “The lieutenant wanted some sweets commander.” she explained.

“Oh?” Wilcke quipped, mocking surprise. She then regarded Erica and asked, “Is that so lieutenant?”

Caught in a bind, the German witch confessed. “It's true, but then we saw Aaron down here looking depressed and we came over to see what was the matter. I don't even want a bonbon right now.” she admitted.

The commander nodded and simply walked over slowly, glancing at Aaron who by this point was reading the paper and scribbling away with his pen along the edges. Furrowing her brow, she stopped by his left side and took a peek at what he was doing. Written in black ink, tiny cursive letters were revealed by the candlelight. They read 'Marie to Agincourt', 'Explanation of things', and 'How to say goodbye'. It made sense to her why he wrote them, but what puzzled her was that she noticed that he was writing without looking at what he was doing, his attention instead devoted to an article that read 'Further arrests made in German War Ministry bribery case. Only one suspect at large.' _What?! Corruption in the German War Ministry?! I didn't hear anything about this!_ The words took her aback and she inquired, “Lieutenant? That article there about the bribery case. When did that happen?”

“About a week ago.” Divale answered. “Apparently they paid off some psychologists to pass pilots who weren't mentally ready for combat in order to shore up the gaps in the lines. Nasty stuff. Probably got a lot of them killed or discharged because they suffered complete mental breakdowns. It's not featured on the front page because I think they just want this handled quietly unlike those in Great Britain. From what I've read the only one still unaccounted for is a one Colonel Claus Von Stauffenburg. However, it's only a matter of time before he too is caught and tried.”

“That's terrible.” Gertrude stated, utter disgusted with the news. “To think such a thing could take place in our country makes me sick.”

The warlock then regarded Minna and queried, “I don't mean to touch on a sensitive subject but, earlier today when Gaston was talking about why he was retiring, I couldn't help but see that there was some tense between you two. Why was that?”

 _Oh boy, this can of worms._ Wilcke ran her hands through her hair and sighed. Aaron got a sinking feeling in his stomach and wondered if he had made a mistake in asking such a question. “Shortly after we destroyed the Leviathan, the military made it a priority to get onto the continent and establish a defensive line near the border as well as aid in the reconstruction. On paper, it was to be a fairly quick operation, but reality turned out differently. You see, we figured that three hundred thousand would be inside France by the end of April, making the process of finding and building key sites a manageable one. Turns out that close to nine hundred thousand got across and more were hot on their heels as the Americans started sending in their troops as well. Combine that with the additions from the Resistance and we found ourselves with too many troops and not enough space to put them all. We had witches bivouacking in cratered fields waiting for the construction crews to build or restore hangers for them. They worked night and day for weeks at a time and they still couldn't get them done fast enough. In desperation, the Allied command held emergency meetings with every prefect up and down the border explaining the situation and asking if they could use their jurisdictions to house their soldiers. Some were open to the idea, but many were not, Leclerc included. They felt that it was their home and demanded that any citizens that wanted to return could do so without fear of being denied. Arguments went back and forth until finally, a compromise was reached. In return for additional aid supplied to them and a guarantee that they wouldn't evict French citizens as more soldiers poured into the country, the prefects agreed to quarter the troops.” she replied. Minna paused and continued, “I didn't like the decision then and I still don't like it now. All that money would've gone to getting up to date equipment and supplies. Now, we have to make due with whatever they have in surplus until the money from the next stage of war bonds gets distributed.”

The warlock took a long sip from his wine and toked on his cigarette until it disappeared to the butt. He crushed it into an ashtray and exhaled, the smoke curling out the corners of his mouth. “You honestly can't blame them Minna.” he stated, thinking about it. “They're afraid of losing their country for a second time. Seeing it taken away from them by the Neuroi is one thing, but having it ceded over to other people and being pushed into the interior where the reconstruction probably hasn't fully reached yet is another. It's not their fault that the plan failed spectacularly and caused this situation to happen.” He then reached out with his left hand and took her by the right wrist. “It's no secret that you want to see Germany liberated. Believe me, it will, but just have a little more patience. The time will come Minna.”

The German witch looked down at Aaron and couldn't help but smile and sigh. She then placed her left hand over his and nodded. “If they had you to debate with instead of the prefects, I think there would be a much better solution.”

Divale let go and put on a sour face. “Politics is not for me.” he countered. “I'd rather war with weapons than words.”

“If used correctly, a word can be more powerful than any weapon.” Erica pointed out.

“Except for your appetite for sweets.” Gertrude playfully jabbed.

Everyone started to laugh, but the joy was abruptly cut short as a frantic knocking could be heard at the front door to the inn. “Aide! Pour l’amour de Dieu, ouvrez la porte! Aide (Help! For God sake, open the door! Help)!” a woman's voice screamed.

Aaron bolted out of his seat, recognizing who it was. _That's Adrienne!_ He unfurled his wings and with one mighty flap, he flew across the room and landed right at the threshold. He took hold of the brass knob and ripped open the door. Divale had no time to react as Adrienne collapsed into him, grabbing him by the arms hard and shaking in fear and dread, breath coming out in ragged gasps as if she'd been running a marathon. “Que se passe-t-il? Pourquoi êtes-vous (What's going on? Why are you)-” he began to ask, but as he looked more closely at her, his words died and the icy feeling of dread came over him. Mingled with her loose hair and sweat were streaks of fresh blood crisscrossing her terrified face, the added moisture from her pores causing it to drip to the floor. She was wearing a white nightgown and slippers, the soles of her footwear and the bottom hemline of the gown stained crimson. Where Adrienne had grabbed him, the warlock could feel the vitae seeping past the fabric of the uniform and his undershirt and onto his skin.

“Ils sont morts! Tout le monde dans cette maison! C’était- C'etait (They're dead! Everyone in that house! It was- It was)-” Adrienne cried out.

“Respirez Adrienne, s’il vous plaît respirez. Entrez (Breathe Adrienne, please breathe. Come inside).” Aaron strongly advised. As he led her in, he ordered to his friends, “Close that door and get me my wine glass, quickly now.” Erica ran past them and started to close the door and Gertrude picked up the glass of wine. Minna grabbed one of the lit candleholders and brought it on over. Once he got close enough to a chair, he pulled it away with his free hand and gently lowered Adrienne down onto it. However, the frightened close to death woman refused to let her grip slacken for an instant, holding on to him for dear life.

“Here.” Barkhorn offered, holding out the still half full wine glass.

The warlock took it with his left hand and carefully maneuvered his arm underneath and upwards. “Bois un peu de ça. Ça te calmera (Drink some of this. It will calm you down).” he instructed. Adrienne let out a staggered sigh and let go of his arms. She took the glass with both hands and began to gulp it down. Commander Wilcke and Lieutenant Hartmann had now joined the trio and the light from the candle revealed to all the horrifying sight.

“What in the world happened?” Erica whispered in a low voice, too shocked to speak any louder.

“Mlle Adrienne (Miss Adrienne),” Minna inquired, seeking to get to the bottom of this immediately, “d’où vient ce sang? Qui est mort? Et dans quelle maison (where did this blood come from? Who's dead? And in what house)?”

Instead of answers there was only the shattering of glass as it fell from her limp hands, the pieces flying everywhere. Then her eyes started to water and her chest heaved as she began to cry. Aaron was undeterred and he took Adrienne's head in his enormous hands and held it up, making her look into his glowing eyes. “Tu vas bien maintenant. Tu es en sécurité avec nous. je promets (You're alright now. You're safe with us. I promise).” he stated, trying to get her to calm down. It seemed to do the trick and her face softened. Looping her arms around him, she started to breath more slowly. After a few quick seconds, Divale got down to business. “Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé ce soir Adrienne? Expliquez tout (Now, what happened tonight Adrienne? Explain everything).” he asked.

“J’étais à l’étage dans ma chambre à décider quoi porter pour la soirée. Je ne voulais pas qu’il soit trop léger, mais je voulais que ce soit bien pour quand tu es venu. J’ai décidé d’aller avec quelque chose de simple. Dès que j’ai eu mes pantoufles, j’ai eu la chance de regarder à l’extérieur de la fenêtre et j’ai vu cette figure massive marcher dans la rue. Je pensais que c’était vous et était sur le point d’aller à la porte pour vous saluer quand j’ai remarqué quelque chose d’étrange à propos de cette personne (I was upstairs in my room deciding what to wear for the evening. Didn't want it to be too light, but I wanted it to be nice for when you came over. Decided to just go with something simple. As soon as I got my slippers on, I chanced to look outside the window and I saw this massive figure walking down the street. I thought it was you and was about to go to the door to greet you when I noticed something strange about that person).” Adrienne explained.

“Étrange comme dans comment (Strange as in how)?” the warlock pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Il est entré dans la lumière des lampadaires, mais il semblait n’avoir aucun effet. C’était comme si elle dévorait la lumière, restant indétectable. C’était un spectacle très troublant. Puis, il a commencé à courir dans la rue vers la maison que vous êtes allé à et je suis devenu très nerveux. Je suis descendu et dans la rue, en restant hors de vue du mieux que j’ai pu (It walked into the light of the streetlamps, but it seemed to have no effect. It was like it devoured the light, remaining undetectable. Was a very unnerving sight. Then, it started to run down the street towards the house that you went over to and I grew very nervous. I went downstairs and into the street, remaining out of sight as best as I could).” Adrienne answered.

 _Oh shit. Please God don't tell me it's one of those things. No, it can't be. They shouldn't be able to get this deep here anymore with the Neuroi gone. Or maybe there's still some residual energies here._ “Pourquoi ne pas appeler la police à la place (Why not call the police instead)?” Aaron inquired. “Ça aurait été la meilleure option (That would've been the better option).”

Adrienne nodded sadly. “Je le sais, mais à l’époque, je ne pensais pas bien. Désolé (I know that, but at the time I wasn't thinking straight. I'm sorry).” she acknowledged.

“Que s’est-il passé ensuite (So what happened next)?” Aaron queried.

“Je quitte ma maison, en m’en tenant aux ombres pendant que je suivs cette personne. Il ne m’a pas remarqué du tout. Il a suivi tout le chemin dans la rue et, je jure que c’est la vérité honnête de Dieu quand je dis cela, mais il a percuté et traversé la porte, le brisant en morceaux comme si ce n’était rien. Je me suis esquivé dans une ruelle et que (I leave my house, sticking to the shadows all the way while I tail this person. It didn't notice me at all. Followed it all the way down the street and, I swear this is God's honest truth when I say this, but it rammed into and through the door, smashing it to pieces like it was nothing. I ducked in an alley and that)-” Adrienne continued. She paused and swallowed deep, crossing her arms over her chest. “C’est là que les cris ont commencé. J’ai gelé quand les gens sont morts et il m’a fallu tout pour ne pas crier parce que je pensais que le meurtrier m’entendrait (That was when the screaming started. I froze as people died and it took everything in me to not scream because I thought that the murderer would hear me).”

Now it was Aaron's turn to freeze, the implications of what Adrienne was saying swirling in his mind. _Please don't tell me that it got Marie._ “Quand avez-vous eu le courage d’entrer dans la maison (When was it that you mustered up the courage to enter the house)?”

“Juste après que j’ai entendu ce cri aigu suivi par le bris de verre. Je lève les deux coups de la tête et une silhouette ombragée saute du toit jusqu’à la rue derrière cette maison. Il portait aussi quelque chose de petit et blanc si je me souviens bien. Je pense que c’était un enfant à en juger par la taille et le son. Pauvre chose criait encore comme il a voyagé dans les airs. La distance était de plus de trente pieds. Aucun homme n’aurait pu faire ça. Mais, de toute façon, je cours par la porte d’entrée et (Right after I heard this high pitched scream followed by the smashing of glass. I look up and a shadowy figure leaps from the roof all the way into the street behind that house. It was also carrying something small and white if I recall correctly. I think it was a child judging by the size and sound. Poor thing was still screaming as it traveled through the air. The distance was over thirty feet. No man could've done that. But, anyways, I run through the front door and)-” Adrienne further elaborated, but she stopped when Divale raised his right hand.

 _So she was still alive when she was taken by that thing. There's a glimmer of hope that she could still be alive._ “Tu n’as pas à entrer dans les détails (You don't have to go into detail).” the warlock stated, giving her a gentle squeeze on the right shoulder. He then straightened up his stance and looked over at the German witches. “Get the innkeeper and have him ring up the police. Tell them that there has been a murder and Adrienne is the only witness. Also see if you can get him to get another glass of wine and a damp towel for her so she can clean up. If money's an issue, just tell him to put it on my tab.” he ordered before turning around and walking briskly towards the front door.

“Wait.” Minna called out just as he opened it. “Where are you going?”

Divale looked over his right shoulder and answered, “I'm going to find this bastard and kill him.”

**************

The night air was cool, but it did nothing to bring down the boiling heat just underneath the surface of Aaron's raging brainstorm. He was flying high in the air in an attempt to make the trip that much faster, his magic cloaking him from curious eyes. As the warlock flapped his wings, he listened in for sirens and the rumble of cars engines. There were none to be heard and it really made him uneasy. _Now that's very strange. The screaming of the victims and the smashing of glass should've drawn more attention by now. Someone else had to have seen or heard this happen. Adrienne can't possibly be the only one. Or maybe... Maybe this creature knew it wouldn't be detected which is why it hit that place the way it did. Makes some sense. Who would believe that a monster attacked those people and jumped out the top window onto the other side of the street. The poor woman would be thought insane._ His eyes found the house and he dove down hard, panning his head left and right, searching for other people who might have stumbled across the horrific sight. Thankfully and unfortunately, there were none and the moment Divale got close enough to the ground, he tucked in his wings and landed on his feet with a soft clop of his soles. Before him was the door, broken into splinters from the impact. Doing the math in his head, he judged the creature to be roughly his height, give or take a few inches. Remembering that it rammed into it, he walked closer to the threshold and tilted his head so as to get a better look at the thickness of the door. The hinges were horribly bent out of shape and the dead bolt was sheared off. As for the thickness of the wood, it was a good inch and an half. More than enough to keep out the wind and rain, but not too practical in keeping out unwanted visitors. Scanning the debris, Aaron didn't see any physical remnants of the creature. Deep down, he wasn't too surprised. _They never leave anything behind. No blood, no skin, no hair. The moment it's shed, it bubbles away like acid._ +Give me a scan of this thing's aura Ismenoth. How powerful is it?+ he subvocalized.

+Working on it right now.+ Ismenoth replied. After a few seconds of silence, the fiend answered, +It's very faint here Aaron. Makes me feel that this person's transformation happened very recently.+

 _So it's not like Notre Dame thank God._ +Try to get me a fix on where it might've gone. Tap into comm networks if you need to.+ Divale ordered as he walked inside the house. It didn't take long for him to see the carnage within the dwelling. The first thing he saw was the portly conductor, or what was left of him, splayed out on the floor in still steaming chunks of flesh and viscera. The dead man's bones were crushed into fragments as if they were struck with incredible force and the skin looked to be torn in places. Blood was all over the walls, floor, and nearby furniture. Two more people, a man and a woman, were off towards the living room, bodies not too far away from toppled over chairs, their skulls bashed in to the point where cranium met crotch. Being very careful not to step into the crimson vitae, the warlock shifted around the scene, absorbing all the sights and smells, recreating in his mind how things went down. _Creature bursts through the door with a crash and sees the conductor. Possibly manages a scream before he gets killed. Those two in the living room stand up in shock, causing the chairs to hit the floor. More yelling ensues and they get it next. Looks like they bought it at the same time. So that would mean that the creature leaps up and brings down the hands or feet. Boom. Boom. Double kill. Where did it go next?_

Squinting, Aaron could faintly make out a pair of footprints that looked more reptilian than human with three long toes pointed forwards and a single digit pointing behind, each one with some sort of long claw, the very tips of which dug into the floor, causing deep gouges in the wood. Tracing the destruction, the clue led to the stairs, the wallpaper ripped away, revealing the older style. He followed the trail through the room and up the stairs, not so much as holding onto the banister for balance as it looked to be close to coming off. The creature left a path of broken steps, blood footprints, and long lines of wallpaper that billowed whenever the wind from the open door downstairs whipped up, reminding him of flags flying high over the numerous battlefields he fought on over the years. Near the turn was another person, a woman, her chest sunken into where Divale could see the backbone through the sternum. Her organs were pulped from the impact, probably a shoulder barge, some of them still hanging from her open mouth and nostrils. There was no way around the corpse without getting his feet wet, so the warlock unfurled his wings and flapped them once. It was more than enough to propel him upwards and arch around the final bend to the top of the second floor. Landing and tucking his wings back in, Aaron took a quick glance and saw all the doors to every room lying broken at his feet. Looking back down at the floor, the tracks of the creature zigzagged back and forth to the left and right, left and right as it slaughtered the poor souls that were just barely waking up to the sounds of their dying comrades. He didn't even bother to peer into the rooms. _There's no point. They're dead either way you look at it._

Continuing to walk, taking lunging steps from time to time to bypass all the mess in his way, Divale finally came to the room where Marie had been sleeping. Like the other doors, it was utterly destroyed, but unlike the rest of the house, the room was strangely devoid of destruction save for the deep cuts into the floor by the creature's clawed feet. He strolled on inside and gazed at the bed. There was no blood to be found at all and the top sheet was gone. That was when he noticed something incredibly odd about the whole scene. Going by the footprints alone, it looked as if the monster had stopped at the foot of the bed. _What the hell was it doing standing there like that? Was it gauging whether to kill her right then and there?_ A gust of wind blew into the room from the broken window, the wood around the frame cracked or completely gone in places as the creature jumped through it. Aaron moved to it and looked out into the cool night and the street where Adrienne said it landed. +There's a much greater concentration of its aura here than anywhere else in the house Aaron. It might have lingered here for a bit before taking her.+ Ismenoth reported, subvocalizing the words.

+Good. Then that means it will leave a much stronger trail for us to follow. Give me the directions as soon as you get a bead on this fucker.” Aaron replied with a smile. Suddenly, the sounds of police sirens began to tear through the night and he realized that he had to get going. Unfurling his wings, he flew up into the air and continued to climb. Once he got to one thousand feet, he ended his magic and hovered near a small cloud. Honing in on the sirens, he could see the headlights of the approaching cop cars racing down the street. They moved in two teams of five cars each, one coming towards the crime while the other looped up and around. Divale was puzzled for a second, but then grunted as he started to understand. _They're going to where Adrienne said the thing went. Guess they've already got the call and questioned her. Hopefully she's alright._ Then, his ears picked up sounds that at first mingled with the sirens, but was now beginning to get louder and louder. The new sound mimicked that of engines, but it was more thrum like. The warlock's eyes widened upon recognizing that those were the thrumming rotors of Strikers and whipped his head around in all directions, trying to figure out where the witches were and whether to cloak himself again to avoid detection.

His excellent vision helped him pick out the witches, three in total and holding MG42s, making a pass over the house right below him. _Could that be..._ Taking an awfully big risk, Aaron thumbed his communicator to Minna's old frequency and radioed, “You read me commander? It's Lieutenant Divale. Is that you, Erica, and Gertrude? Over.”

The reply was immediate and confused, “Aaron?” Wilcke's voice echoed in his ear. “How do you still remember this frequency?”

“Honestly it was lucky guess.” Divale admitted. “I'm right above you near the cloud. One o clock high.” Slowly, the flight veered and rose up in the air, the features of his friends becoming more and more visible. Once they got close enough and hovered near him, he asked, “What brings you all out this time of night.”

“The commander felt you could use a little help on this one.” Gertrude answered.

“That and you have a very bad reputation for going it alone.” Erica added.

“Maybe back then, but not now.” Aaron proclaimed with a smile. Looking over at Minna, he nodded and stated sincerely, “I appreciate it.”

The commander nodded. “Was it as bad as Adrienne made it?” Wilcke inquired, looking down at the hole in the window.

“Worse.” the warlock reported. “They didn't stand a chance. However, that thing took Marie and I'm having Ismenoth track it now.” _Speaking of which._ +Have a bead on that fucker yet?+ he subvocalized.

+Give me a few more seconds and I'll have that fix.+ the demonness replied.

“How can you be sure that she's still alive?” Hartmann queried. She then realized how it came out and hastily apologized. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know.” Aaron acknowledged. “And to answer your question, I have no clue whatsoever if she still lives, but I have a responsibility to Celeste to keep her safe and I'm going to do it.”

“No confirmation without a body.” Barkhorn quipped.

The commander put on a thoughtful face and furrowed her brow. “Have you ever seen a creature take people?” she asked.

Before Divale could answer, Ismenoth excitedly subvocalized, +Got the bitch! It's two and a half miles north of here. I'll let you know when you're right on top of it.+

“She's got a location. Follow me.” Divale instructed. As one, the quartet moved out, maintaining altitude. Gazing through the night, he started forming a plan of attack in his head. _Northern outskirts. Makes sense to go there. Sparsely populated. Not well lit. Quiet. Many places to hide. I'll engage it on the ground while they circle around spraying it with lead. Should be able to bring it down quickly considering how weak it is. Then we find Marie and see if she's still alive. Please God let her be alright._

“Does she know how powerful it is?” Minna inquired, clearly wanting to know every detail. “Does she know what it can do?”

Just as Aaron opened his mouth to answer, Ismenoth appeared, her head emerging from the center of his back. Her skin glistened in the dim night and her venom green hair tossed this way and that in the wind. “I won't know until we actually get there and fight the damn thing.” she answered, looking forwards over the warlock's skull. She then turned her head completely around and looked at the three witches, mouth agape in elated surprise. “Well if it isn't the ex boss, big sis, and lemony fresh ass. How have you all been? It's been too long since we last spoke. We have to get together sometime and chat a little.” the fiend ranted, acting like a long lost relative that hadn't seen hide or hair of her extended family for years.

“I was asking Aaron, not you.” the commander replied emphatically, her brown eyes narrowing with disgust.

“Unfortunately commander she's right on the second question. There's no telling what that creature is capable of until we meet face to face.” Divale remarked over his right shoulder. “When it comes to the first question however, we know that it was a recent conversion so the strength is quite low. With all four of us working together, we'll have no problem in killing it.”

“Where did it come from?” Erica wondered out loud. “Even when we were taking Ypres, none of us saw anything like that.”

“We weren't exactly close enough to get a good look with all the strategic bombing going on.” Gertrude countered. She looked over at the warlock, a hard thing to do given the demonness' head blocking the way and inquired, “You have any theories?”

Aaron shrugged his shoulders, a move that made Ismenoth's jaw clench involuntarily. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don't sense any nearby pockets of polluted magic near St. Omer at all. They shouldn't be able to exist here now.” he replied.

“Unless of course it was more resilient due to residual aetheric energies.” Ismenoth spat through gritted teeth. After Aaron relaxed his shoulders, the fiend moved her jaw this was and that. “Besides, where it came from is no longer relevant. What is will be the plan of attack.” she added.

“Oh that's simple.” Divale explained. “I go in on the ground to engage it head on while you all pepper it with gunfire from the air. I trust your judgment in when to attack and to cease fire.”

“You might trust them, but I don't like it.” the demonness countered, subsiding back into the warlock's back entirely.

“Thank God she's gone.” Erica commented. “I was getting tired of smelling her stink from downwind.”

***********************

“She says it's right there.” Aaron whispered, pointing straight down. Minna took out her binoculars and looked through the lenses. Squinting, the slivers of moonlight that seeped through the cloud cover illuminated a rather old small cemetery, the headstones gleaming like teeth in a jaw. It rested on somewhat flat terrain, though there were some dips from the trails caused by footfalls and cars. It was flanked by a small wooded area about three hundred feet from the back end of the necropolis.

“We're going to set down in those woods and get closer look before we take to the skies.” Wilcke reported, putting her binos away. Once she did, gave the silent signal to loop around and dive. As one, the formation executed a perfect left downwards turn and dove until they were an arms length above the ground, zigzagging up and around small stone walls, overgrown hedgerows, and a cow or two from a nearby farm. As they got closer and closer to the copse of trees, they killed the power to their Strikers and stretched their legs out as if they were running. Legs hit the dirt and the the combination of momentum and position made it so that they continued lunging forwards under their own power without falling face first into the ground and came to a complete stop. Divale looked at them in awe for he'd never seen that before. _Now that's a neat trick._ Despite the sight, he knew in the back of his mind that they had a job to do and he took point, leading them into the trees, a collection of willows and pines. Piles of old leaves and nut brown pine needles were scattered everywhere, making bulbous mounds of dead vegetation that were as tall as Gertrude. Silently ending his enchantment that shielded his backpack and katana from view, he reached down to his right side with his right hand and gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, making sure that it didn't graze the trunks. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, he waltzed around the place, pushing the spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose. The warlock looked behind him at the witches. Though they didn't have the advantage of being able to see in the dark as effectively as he did, there was enough moonlight coming down through the branches to give them a rough sense of what was around them. Aaron turned to face front once again and peered into the darkness, panning this way and that for any sign of the creature, straining his ears to pick up a sound.

Suddenly, the air was rent by a bloodcurdling savage bellow that echoed throughout the forest. All instantly held positions, ducking down or behind whatever cover was close by. That was when Divale drew the katana, the metal dully gleaming in the low light. _I'm so glad I have this by my side. It will make my job that much easier._ Listening and watching the immediate vicinity, he still couldn't see the enemy or hear it approach, but from experience could gauge where the roar came from. Glancing over his shoulder, he took his left hand and made a series of hand gestures that told Minna and company to stay close and advance right behind him, using him as cover and a diversion should things turn south. All of them gave him a thumbs up in acknowledgment. With that done, Aaron moved up deeper into the forest, the tree line getting thinner and thinner as he approached the cemetery proper. A vast swath of moonlight was bathing the area in an eerie bluish silver glow, making the tombstones stand in stark contrast to the grasses nearby. Another unholy thundering cry from inhuman vocal cords sprang up, this one much closer than the last. Adrenaline surged within every vein and breathing slowed to a crawl. Though he exuded an outward calm, the warlock was having a minor panic attack. _Where the fuck is it? I can't see the damn thing anywhere. Should I just charge in and have them fly up in the hopes of spooking it? What do I do?_ That question would have to wait another night as fortune finally smiled on him. Out of the corner of his right eye, he glimpsed for a brief moment in time a large humanoid shape in the illuminated black shifting to and fro, but otherwise holding position near what looked to be a freshly dug plot. Noting the way the stone was unmarked, Aaron was convinced that it wasn't looking in his general direction at all. _Now we have you, you fucker. Where is Marie though?_

What occurred next would haunt him for the remainder of his days as the foe raised its hand up impossibly high, the dying moonlight barely reflecting off the body, and managed to moan out a very human voice, a voice he knew, a voice that made him drop the katana to the ground in shock. “Mama. Mama.” _No! No! No! This isn't true! It's not possible! That monster can't be Marie! I can't! I refuse to believe it!_ However, as it spoke, the form of the creature started to shimmer like ripples in a pond and as it did so, a tiny form of a child with red hair and wearing a white dress manifested in the exact middle of the torso. Aaron's legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees, desperately trying to hold back the flood of tears that were about to pour out of his eyes. Minna saw him go down and went up to him on the double, placing her right hand on his neck.

“What's wrong lieutenant? What did you see?” she asked, concern evident in every syllable.

Her words made him turn slightly and gaze at her brown eyes. _She didn't hear what I heard. None of them did. Oh God._ Confident that he could hold his grief at bay, he closed his eyes and replied in the calmest voice he could manage under the circumstances, “I see it, but I want you to hold positions until I give the order to go up.”

Wilcke nodded and waited for him to explain what the signal would be, but Aaron simply picked up the katana and sheathed it without so much as a word. She watched him stand up fully and walk out into the open. _What on earth is he doing?_ “Aaron?” the commander hissed. “What's the signal? Lieutenant Divale?” Nothing the German witch said seemed to elicit any response or any indication that he even heard what she was saying. _Shit. He's doing it again._ Turning to her equally puzzled friends, she whispered, “Let's flank around so we can get a better shot. Follow me.”

Though they did their best to be quiet, Divale could hear every movement they made as he tread through the grass and tombstones, eyes locked on the monster. _No, not a monster. That is Marie._ Memories of the when he first met that child raced through his mind. A flash and she's in his arms being laid down on the operating table for her gangrenous leg. Another flash and he's wiping her feverish brow with a rag as he told her a bedtime story. Then a last flash of her asking him after he returned her back to Celeste 'Will I see you again?'. Deep in his heart, he wished there would be more memories of her and him, but he knew that after tonight that there will be none. _There's nothing I can do for her. Once the transformation takes hold, there's no stopping it. Not even my magic can save her now. Marie, Celeste, God, please forgive me for what I have to do._ Closer and closer he crept towards Marie, the child monster oblivious to his approach as she continued to sob and cry for her mother. “Réveille Mama, s’il te plaît. J’ai froid et j’ai peur. Réveille maman. Réveillez-vous (Please wake up Mama. I'm cold and scared. Wake up mama. Wake up).” she wept, clawed hands going to her face. _Don't worry Marie. You're going to see your mother soon._

Meanwhile, Minna, Erica, and Gertrude moved around in the woods, backing deeper into it and shifting right, trying to create a firing line. Wilcke gritted her teeth in silent rage at the warlock for making the same mistakes that he made when he went and fought the banshee. _Damn you Aaron! We can hold our own you stupid man!_ Finally she came up to a slight dip in the ground for runoff, a place where it offered a clear view along the organized rows of headstones, and gestured with her MG42 to it. Both Barkhorn and Hartmann nodded and they set up shop in the barely there trench, lying flat on their stomachs. Looking out over the lip, the witches could see Divale plain as day as the moonlight began to shine through the clouds once more. They also saw what he was making his way towards and it filled them with terror and dread. Standing head and shoulders above their friend was a monstrous bipedal creature with jagged scales that jutted out from its body like a serrated knife. The musculature bulged underneath the skin, veins and tendons looking on the verge of exploding outwards. Clawed reptilian feet with four knotted toes dug into the soft earth of the new grave. A large crest of blood red rose up from the lower back and traveled all the way up the spine, culminating into a massive bump on the top of the head where long spider like legs emerged from holes, their lengths far longer than the depth of the creature. The new appendages swung this way and that plowing the surrounding ground and smashing headstones into pieces with reckless abandon. Again, it started to yell, but this time it sounded strained and it looked like it was heaving its chest, pressing the clawed hands to its face. Veterans of countless battles, killers of hundreds of Neuroi, those three witches had seen many a terrible sight in their time, but this unnerved them to their collective cores. Erica's hands started to shake uncontrollably, making the gun quiver as if it were made of Jello, Gertrude couldn't look at the monster, her eyes shifting down and away as sweat beaded on her forehead, and Minna found breathing complicated and simply stared at the sight in sheer mortal terror.

In the midst of the chaos, the trio saw Aaron suddenly come to a halt and slowly unfurl his wings. Though the angle wasn't perfect by any means, she could see that he had a look of resigned sadness to his face as he started to take off his spectacles. Once he placed them in his back right pocket, he lifted his right leg up and brought it down hard on a twig, snapping it loudly. The sound made the creature turn towards him in surprise and it started to growl menacingly. Its face was hideous to behold with a trio of glowing pupilless red eyes that hovered over a disturbingly long snout like a crocodiles, the teeth jutting out of the jaws this way and that, bits and pieces of flesh and cloth hanging from them. “C’est bon de te revoir Marie (It's nice to see you again Marie).” he remarked, his voice uncharacteristically cracking at the end.

Immediately, the creature's snarling ceased and it opened its maw wide, revealing the rows of teeth and slick tongue. Something stirred towards the back of the throat and soon, a pair of tiny human lips appeared just past the uvula. “A-Aaron? C'est toi (Is that you)?” it spoke.

Tears fell down Divale's face as he nodded. “Oui Marie. C’est moi Aaron (Yes Marie. It's me Aaron).” he croaked out, his right hand going to his mouth, covering it completely.

 _What! That thing is the child?! How is that possible?!_ Wilcke was speechless as her hands involuntarily let go of the machine gun. Her friends nearly did the same, but held their weapons firm, their sense of duty far greater than their shock. Suddenly, the child turned monster started to slowly walk towards the warlock, the spider legs aiding the legs like crutches. “Pourquoi pleures-tu Aaron ? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas (Why are you crying Aaron? What is wrong)?” she asked.

Aaron took his hand away and replied, “Parce que je ne savais pas où te trouver petit. J’étais si inquiète pour toi. Je pensais qu’il t’était arrivé quelque chose de mal (Because I didn't know where to find you little one. I was so worried about you. I thought something bad had happened to you).”

“Est-ce qu’un câlin vous aidera (Will a hug help)?” Marie inquired, her child heart wanting to stop him from being sad.

That was when Divale started to moving, his legs closing the gap between them. He held his arms out wide and answered, “Oui. Cela aiderait beaucoup. Viens ici Marie (Yes. That would help very much. Come here Marie).” Once they got close enough, the odd pairing of man and monster embraced warmly. The sight was unnerving, but heartbreaking at the same time to the witches as Aaron looked to be within a cage of legs, a trap that could close on him any second. Despite it all, Wilcke couldn't find it in her heart to pick up her gun. Minna glanced over at her pilots and made the gesture to lower their weapons. _Now I see why he went alone. Very well Lieutenant Divale. You may take care of this your way._

The warlock buried his head into the chest of Marie, closing his eyes and still weeping silently. His grief was boundless now and he found it hard to not open his eyes, but open them he did. Through his blurred vision, he could've sworn that he saw the shimmering image of Marie as she once was dancing before his orbs. “Aaron,” Marie piped up, “J'ai besoin de votre aide. J’ai besoin que tu m’aides avec Mama (I need your help. I need you to help me with Mama).”

Divale looked up at Marie and inquired, “Où est ta mère ? Emmenez-moi à elle et je vais voir ce que je peux faire (Where is your mother? Take me to her and I'll see what I can do).” He took one step back, weaving past a leg, and held out his right hand, palm open. Marie took it carefully in her now gigantic clawed paw and started to lead him away towards the grave marker that she had been standing at previously, withdrawing the legs closest to her friend as to not make him trip. A few steps later, the warlock came up to the fresh grave site and looked down. Before his eyes was a white marble tombstone with a pair of roses atop it. Carved into the stone was CELESTE DUBOIS 1917-1944 A MOTHER AND PATRIOT. He reached out with his right hand and ran his fingers along the letters,this thoughts going back to the night they spent together. _An epitaph most fitting, though I would include the word selfless before mother._

“Ils ont mis Mama dans une grande boîte et l’ont couverte de terre il y a quelques jours. Ils m’ont dit qu’elle dormait, mais maman ne dort pas dans la saleté, elle dort à côté de moi au lit. Je ne voulais pas qu’ils le font et j’ai pleuré quand ils ne se sont pas arrêtés. Elle dort depuis trop longtemps et je veux la revoir Aaron. S’ll te plaît, aide-moi à réveiller maman. S'il vous plaît (They put mama in a big box and covered her with dirt a few days ago. They told me she was sleeping, but mama doesn't sleep in dirt, she sleeps next to me in bed. I didn't want them to do it and I cried when they didn't stop. She's been sleeping too long and I want to see her again Aaron. Please help me wake mama up. Please).” Marie begged, her tears falling down from her face again. She started to put her hands to her face, but Aaron stopped what he was doing and reached out with both his hands and took hers within his, a look of warmth and conviction on his face.

“Ne pleure pas Marie. Je vais t’aider à réveiller ta mère, mais j’ai besoin que tu fermes d’abord les yeux et que tu me fais face d’accord (Don't cry Marie. I will help you wake your mother up, but I need you to first close your eyes and face me okay)?” Aaron stated sincerely. Marie nodded enthusiastically and did as she was told. Divale then used his wings to embrace her gently, all the while not letting go of her hands. _As is tradition with the French, the soon to be deceased is told to think of the most beautiful thing before the end. If she has to die, I want her to have a smile on her face. She deserves that much._ “Maintenant, je veux que tu penses à ta mère Marie. Je veux que tu l’imagines dans ton esprit et que tu me dises la plus belle chose que tu ai es fait ensemble (Now, I want you to think of your mother Marie. I want you to picture her in your mind and tell me the most beautiful thing you did together).”

Marie paused as she thought and her face seemed to brighten a bit as she remembered. “C’était quand maman travaillait à la boulangerie il y a longtemps. Un soir, elle est rentrée avec du pain et on s’est battus à l’épée avec eux. Il y avait de la chapelure partout. On riait beaucoup et j’ai gagné (It was when Mama worked at the bakery long time ago. One night she came home with some bread and we played sword fight with them. There was bread crumbs everywhere. We laughed a lot and I won).” she recalled. The warlock stood there smiling, imagining how hilarious it would've been if he saw that. _And now, on to-_ “Aaron?” Marie suddenly asked.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est (What is it)?” Aaron inquired.

“J’aimerais que tu soit mon Père (I wish you were my Papa).” Marie replied.

The words cut past his heart and into Divale's soul and silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Again, he saw the afterimage of what Marie once was inside the creature a broad smile on her face. It took everything in his power to not bawl like a baby as he answered, “Moi aussi Marie (Me too Marie).” He closed his eyes and subvocalized, +Mortem Marie.+ Putting everything he had into the spell as to not make her suffer an iota of pain, the warlock watched as the form of Marie vanished, becoming nothing more than a pile of ashes.

Off in the distance, Minna saw the sad ending play out and simply rose to her feet, picking up her machine gun as she did so. Erica and Gertrude did the same and the trio walked over towards their friend who simply stood at the foot of grave, hands still held out. Once they got close enough, Wilcke saw that some of the ashes had blown into Aaron's face, the trail of tears making it look like he was weeping black ink. In his hands were more of the remains of Marie. Suddenly the wind picked up and started blowing them away. As it did so, Aaron opened his eyes and intoned just before the last shred of evidence that Marie Dubois ever existed on this earth vanished into the night air, “All are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Perrine reunite and catch up on what has been happening in and around Agincourt.

_ **Chapter XXVII: All For One** _

_It is written that, in the beginning, when humanity was by its lonesome in nature, that it cared for nothing but itself. I can attest to the truth of that, but deep down, we are not made to be solitary. We need to have company in order not lose our minds._

Diary Entry July 16th 1944

Perrine poured the last bit of still piping hot earl gray tea into her cup, the steam from the liquid slowly rising into the noon air. Placing the porcelain tea pot back atop the coaster on the mahogany coffee table, she sat down in one of the cushioned chairs she pulled out of the adjoining room across from her and sighed with displeasure at the small mound of papers next to her. _Even after so much work, there's still more left to do._ Clostermann took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes, silently wishing that she could go to sleep. Despite her condition, the French witch knew that her efforts were making a difference in the lives of her people. Much had been done over the last three months all over her beloved France and she had thrown herself headlong into the reconstruction. She opened up her lands for the planting and harvesting of fruits and vegetables for the local folk to take and can for themselves. An orphanage and simple hospital were built right across from her chateau to care for those children who lost their families and to aid the sick. It took a great deal of planning and funding on her part, but the jobs were done quickly and efficiently due to her father's contacts and the generosity of the French people knowing no bounds. Taking her hands away from her eyes and placing her glasses back on her face, she smiled and looked down at the orphanage from the large balcony at the front of her chateau. Far below her, Perrine could see the diminutive form of Christiane directing the young children outside so they could play. _Thank God that Gertrude placed her in my care. She's done wonders with them._ Further out, her sight followed the snaking road into the plowed fields and orchards, the small groups of people either picking or planting foodstuffs with them help of horses and small tractors. Clostermann then turned her attention to her tea, taking it up in her right hand and leaning back in her chair. She took a long sip and sank deeper into the seat, letting the warmth of the earl gray and the noon day July sun do their work in taking the stress of the day away. Running her tongue along the roof of her mouth, the lieutenant internally grumbled upon recognizing that she didn't make the mixture just right yet again. _Now this is just intolerable. Lynette gave me the recipe before we disbanded and assured me that these were the right amounts, but no matter how many times I try to make it, it's still either too weak or too strong. What am I not getting?_

Suddenly, her ears picked up the sounds of an approaching vehicle that wasn't a tractor or the occasional mailman. Curious, Perrine put down her cup, got out of her chair, walked over the the edge of the decorative wooden railing, and looked down the winding dirt road. Approaching at a moderate speed was a taxi, the small enclosure built atop the roof of the car giving it away. It was much too far out to see if it was carrying anything, but given how the frame and suspension were almost grazing the ground, there had to be quite a few people inside besides the driver. _I don't recall receiving any visitors today. Who could they be? They better not be solicitors, salesman, or gentleman callers or I'll have them thrown out on their asses._ Clostermann then removed herself from the railing and walked out the small screened door into the study, closing it behind her as to not let any bugs inside. Weaving through the room she emerged into the hallway and made a quick right. Not even seven steps later and she reached the double stairs, her shoes making much louder clops than they should. _Get a grip there Perrine. You are a Clostermann so you better walk like one. If father were here right now, he'd be scolding you._ Once she got to the front door, the witch placed her head on the wood and listened intently, seeing if she beat the taxi. The rumbling of an idling engine told her that she hadn't and it surprised her to no end. _There's no way that it could've got here that fast, not from where I saw it._ Then her ears picked up the sound of a door closing and the shifting of gears. Quickly making sure that the front of her uniform was straightened out and her hair was fine, Perrine took a deep breath and opened the door.

Sunlight from the noon sun bathed her face in warmth and a light wind blew from the west, taking with it the smells of harvesting and the mild sting of exhaust fumes from the departing taxi. Standing at one of the side entrances to the chateau proper, Clostermann quickly located a tall male figure in a tan uniform, contrasting sharply with the hedgerows, the marble fountain, the rows of planted flowers in full bloom, and the red cobblestone driveway. He was facing away from her, a large backpack in his right hand and a Japanese katana in his left. The dark hair was in a ponytail and secured with black thread, the nape of the neck revealing tanned skin. The witch cleared her throat, took two steps past the threshold, and announced over the last revs of the cabs accelerator as it drove away, “I'm Perrine Henriette Clostermann and I don't recall expecting or inviting the likes of you here. State your business and make it quick. I'm a very busy woman.”

“You.” a familiar voice replied as the man turned around. Upon hearing the tone and the softness in the delivery, she took a tentative step forward. _That voice. I know that voice._ Her questions were answered as the face was revealed. Wearing spectacles that matched her own, Aaron Divale looked upon her and smiled. “Well wouldn't you know.” he casually mentioned as he shrugged his right shoulder, the suns rays twinkling off his silver lieutenant bars. “We match.”

Perrine's eyes widened, the shock of her old wingman and friend appearing out of the blue simply overwhelming. “Aaron? My God, I-I never would've thought you'd-” she fumbled, before Divale started to slowly walk up to her.

“Come here?” he asked, finishing what she would've said. “Never in a million years my friend.” He panned his head left and right, taking in the old yet new sights that graced his vision. “This place looks so much more different now without that blasted darkness around. Everything has changed and it looks stunning Perrine. Your chateau is just as beautiful as I remember it.” he added.

“Thank you.” Clostermann responded, doing her best not to blush at such compliments. She recovered quickly, just in time for the pair to stand arms length away, face to face. “It's really good to see you again,” the witch remarked, “and smiling.”

“Same here.” the warlock replied, holding his arms wide open. Knowing what he wanted, Perrine let him embrace her. As he did so, her eyes traveled to the sword that he carried in his left hand. Aaron noticed it out of the corner of his eye and explained, “That was Major Sakamoto's old katana. She's since forged a new one and gave this one to me when I was visiting her and Yoshika near Yokohama Japan.”

“Why did she give it to you?” Clostermann inquired with a furrowed brow as she let go.

“That's a bit of a story in itself.” Divale admitted. “You mind if I come in? This luggage might look light, but it does get tiring holding it all the time.”

“Of course you may. We'll talk more on the balcony.” Perrine agreed, stepping to one side and gesturing to the open door. She was about to move forwards, intent on being the first to go in, but Aaron simply waltzed on ahead, wiping his feet on the door mat. _I almost forgot. He used to live here too._

After Divale wiped his boots free of dirt and debris, he walked inside the chateau, a place that he hadn't set foot in for over half a year. Panning his head around, he noticed that very little had changed, save for the place being free of dust and well lit by the afternoon sun, courtesy of not having the windows shuttered and boarded up. The furniture was still mostly covered up and most of the rugs had been removed from storage and placed down on the beautiful hand carved wood floor, the design that mimicked a rushing river. At certain intervals, the Clostermann family crest, a black and white shield with three inverted shells, two above and one below, and an inverted black bar with three yellow hollow squares, could be seen along the trimming on the ceiling. Knowing where to go, he trotted down the main foyer towards the double stairs, the marble white banisters with gold trim along the base of the decorative knob shining bright. Above the stairs was a crystal chandelier. _I remember that chandelier. Nearly grazed my head against it when I was first going through the place. Of course, it was much lower for the cord had come loose at some point._ The warlock walked on up the stairs, his boots making no sound as he took the steps one by one out of respect. As he went on up, he chanced to look to the right where he saw a very familiar sight. Off towards the other side of the chateau was a gaming room of sorts where the pool table that he played well over a hundred games sat. Nearby was a fireplace and he could just barely make out the fringes of a piano peeking out. Aaron did his best, but couldn't help smiling as old memories came back. The sight disappeared little by little as he got to the top until it vanished from sight altogether. Once on the second floor, he took a few steps and wandered into the study, the one of two ways that he recalled led to the balcony, the other being the rather large kitchen further down the hall. The door was wide open and Divale stepped right inside. The room looked to have been well used with a roll top desk chalk full of books, folders, papers, pens, and pencils scattered around in some sort of chaotic order. Bookshelves lined two of the four walls, extending all the way up to the ceiling, the tomes containing everything from business management to Don Quixote. There was one thing that seemed out of place and that was a bedroll tucked near the doors that led out to the balcony. _Now that's a tad bit strange. Why would she consider sleeping in the study when the bedroom was on the opposite side of the house?_

Ignoring the question for now, Aaron opened the screen door and waited for Perrine to come up. She did so within a few seconds and he graciously held it open for her. After the witch crossed the threshold, he closed it behind him and found himself standing a top the balcony. It was lined with a wooden railing that resembled that of a hedgerow of roses and in the center was a small coffee table with two cushioned chairs. One the table was a porcelain teapot with a saucer and cup nearby, the tea inside probably lukewarm by now. “Please have a seat.” Perrine offered. “You can have the rest of that tea as well. I didn't make it quite right.”

Divale sat down in the chair on the right gingerly as to make sure that he wouldn't crush it. It held his weight and his nose picked up the scent of bergamot oil. “Earl Gray.” he remarked, recognizing the smell. “Excellent choice.” Picking up the cup by the handle with two fingers, he took a long sip. _Lukewarm, but still alright. Flavor is off though and I think I know why._ “Did you refrigerate the leaves?” he inquired just as Clostermann sat down.

“Yes I did, but what does that have to do with it?” Perrine queried.

“While it's perfectly fine to do that for it does protect it from heat, light, and moisture, if the appliance isn't aerated out and cleaned thoroughly first, that refrigerator smell seeps into it and it affects taste.” the warlock explained.

“Oh, I didn't know that.” the witch commented, placing her right hand under her chin. “I'll have to buy fresh one of these days.” Just as the warlock started to take off his backpack, she gestured to the katana strapped to his right side and asked, “So what's the story behind the blade?”

Divale finished taking off his backpack and set it underneath the table, a hard feat to manage considering its size and answered, “As I'm sure you can guess, I'm on leave right now and I decided to spend it visiting old friends and catching up on what happened since we all left. I figured that I'd go somewhere that I've never been and I flew across two oceans and a continent to Japan to see Yoshika and Mio. Got there and managed to get directions to Miyafuji's family clinic. To say that she was shocked to see me would be an understatement and her cousin, grandmother, and mother were all there too. Quite an interesting time. Learned that the major and Hijikata were on their way for supper so I stayed.”

“Must have been quite a shock for you,” Perrine observed, “visiting a country that you've never seen a talking to people whose language you didn't know. I think it would be awkward.”

 _Oh you have no idea Perrine._ “There was a bit of a barrier, but you know me. I adjusted quickly and at dinner, Major Sakamoto confided in me that she was in the process of learning how to channel her magic through her sword, but she couldn't use her old one and forged a new one, imbuing that with magic. I have no idea what she was going to do with it to be honest so it was surprising when she simply offered me her old sword and said to use it well in the battles ahead.” the warlock continued.

 _A way to channel magic through a weapon like that? Is that something she can teach me too if we meet again?_ “Please don't think I'm being nosy or anything Aaron, but would you mind if I see it?” Clostermann queried.

“Not at all.” Aaron responded. He then took his right hand and drew the katana. The steel blade made no sound as it came out of the scabbard and he held it aloft over his head, giving it a little flourish. Flipping it with a slight twist, he watched the sunlight hit the metal, creating a kaleidoscopic effect. At the last second, he darted out with his thumb and index finger and snatched the weapon out of midair, stopping the descent dead. “Here you are.” he offered, presenting the katana hilt first. Remembering how Major Sakamoto held it, Perrine reached out and took the hilt with both hands. After Divale removed his grip, she was amazed at how much it weighed. _My goodness I had no idea that something like this would be this heavy. The major must be beyond strong to wield this with one hand at times. No wonder she overpowered me so easily during our duels._ She then tested the balance and found that it rested perfectly at the hilt, the craftsmanship that of master quality.

“This is amazing.” Clostermann muttered as she gently swung it through the air away from the table.

The warlock sipped his tea as his friend had her fun and agreed. “Yes it is. A very good gift.” He then paused and looked right at her. “But it paled in comparison to what Yoshika gave me from all of you.” he added.

The French witch stopped mid swing, knowing what he meant. She the offered the katana back to him and nodded. “It was a labor of love Aaron, a love you deserved. Just a shame you didn't stay. I would've loved to see your reaction.” she stated.

Aaron took back the sword and placed it back in the scabbard. “I cried like a baby.” he admitted with a smile. “I could've filled Lake Balaton up to the brim in minutes.” The two chuckled at the rather dry, but heartfelt joke for a bit before he reached out with his left hand and placed it on Perrine's. “Thank you.” he said.

“As you say so often, anytime.” Clostermann replied. “So what did you do after visiting Japan? Did you come straight here through the occupied zones?”

“I made a Trans Siberian voyage across Russia to drop in on Sanya and Eila. They're both living with Sanya's parents in Salekhard. Then I jetted across the Arctic Circle and swooped down and into St Omer where I found Minna, Gertrude, and Erica who were coincidentally on leave as well.” Divale explained further, taking his hand away. “I learned from them that they were using Ypres as a forward operating base. Did you help them with that?”

The witch shook her head. “Oh no. My old squadron was stationed much further south so we didn't get the call. Kind of a good thing that we didn't get roped into it. Heard through the grapevine that quite a few squadrons were heavily damaged.” she replied.

“So what have you been doing around here?” the warlock inquired. “From what I saw, I think you've become a gentleman farmer.”

“Ever since the liberation, I've been spearheading major projects to help aid in the reconstruction. I knew that with so many people now out and about, there wouldn't be enough food for everyone to go around. So I went around asking for volunteers to help me figure out what crops to grow and Aaron you have no idea how many came. They didn't come one by one, but dozens by dozens. It was incredible. Many of them refused payment even when I offered it. After I got their advice, some money gathered up from my father and I, I planned it all out and had those same people tend the fields.” Perrine answered.

“You planned all of that?” Aaron asked with an incredulous look on his face, pointing out past the railing with his left hand. When his former wingman merely nodded, he shook his head, still not really believing what he heard. “So do you harvest and can it or do you send them out into the countryside to sell at farmers markets?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” Clostermann responded. “I mostly just let those less fortunate come on through and take what they need to get by. Quite a few of them come on up and thank me in person.”

“As they should. I would shake you warmly by the hand too if I were among them. You're giving them a shot at life.” Divale replied.

 _Speaking of the less fortunate._ “And that's not all I've been doing. I also built an orphanage and hospital on the far side of the chateau.” Perrine added, gesturing with her head towards the far right. The warlock got up from his chair and walked over to the right side of the balcony. His height made seeing what she indicated that much easier and he soon saw two rather long squat buildings arranged in a sort of arc. The grass was mowed down and he could see people, both young and old, out and about. Using his superior vision, he could make out their faces. He dwelt on the children playing outside, engaging in all sorts of activities like tag, hide and seek, ring around the rosie, or just sitting on the grass playing with wooden toys and stuffed animals. His thoughts went back to when the Resistance first got really started under Leclerc in Lille after he got elected as prefect. _You wouldn't think there would be many children in a warzone, but there were so many of them to look after. I used to play with them at all hours when I had nothing to do. They kept me going those kids._ It was at that point that he came across a face that he knew very well.

It was remarkably similar to Yoshika, but the body was that of a young eight year old girl who was dressed in a yellow sundress with white trim along the arms and skirt line. Her short brown hair looked in need of a touch up. His mind started to go back to London on his motorcycle, back to when he took Erica and Gertrude to see... “Christiane.” Aaron muttered in a low voice.

“That it is.” Clostermann pointed out, walking over to his right side. “She was cleared to leave the hospital shortly after we disbanded and Gertrude decided to leave her here with me so she would be safe. Christiane has been a great help in making sure those children are watched. Would you like to pay her a quick visit?”

************************

“Thank you Auntie Chris.” the little boy stated happily while taking the pail of wooden ABC blocks from her hands.

“You're very welcome, but remember what I said about sharing.” Christiane replied, waving her right finger. The boy nodded, knowing what she meant and trotted off to a small gathering of children to go play with. Young Barkhorn watched him go and couldn't help but wish that there were more kids her age to play with and talk to. Most of the youngsters at the orphanage were between three and seven so there was no real common threads with them. That and she had her tiny hands full with making sure they didn't get into any trouble. _I don't mind it though. Its actually pretty nice to do something good. Beats being in a hospital bed all the time. I wonder what my big sis is doing right now. Wonder if she'll come visit me today._ The moment she thought that, something appeared in the sky over the chateau that made her look up. It was close to the sun, making it hard to see so she squinted her eyes and shielded them with her right hand. The strategy did the trick and she started to make out the familiar shape of not just one but two people flying in the air, hand in hand. Her heart leapt for joy, thinking that her wish was coming true. Christiane started to wave at them, gesturing for them to come closer. As they did so, Barkhorn began to see something peculiar about one of the figures. Slightly above it, shining in the suns rays, were two large silver white wings gently flapping in the afternoon breeze. At first, she was frightened, but after thinking about it for a quick second, she realized exactly who it was. “Aaron!” she called out, jumping up and down.

Closer and closer Divale came, Perrine holding his right hand as to witness this reunion. Once he was close enough, he gave his wings a quick flap and set down on his own two feet, but only after making sure that Clostermann got her bearings. At this point, some of the children noticed them and started to timidly walk on over, their curiosity greater than their fears. The warlock tucked in his wings, gazed down at Christiane and quipped, “Ein kleiner Vogel erzählte mir, dass sie sich sehr gut um diese Kinder Christiane kümmerten (A little bird told me that you were doing a very good job looking after these children Christiane).”

The child smiled and ran at him, arms wide open. “Aaron! Wie ist es Ihnen ergangen? Ich habe dich schon lange nicht mehr gesehen (Aaron! How have you been? I haven't seen you in a long time).” she remarked, hugging him tightly.

Divale returned the embrace and added, “Viel zu lange (Far too long of a time).” He withdrew from the hug and gave her a quick once over. “Du sielaubst viel besser als beim letzten Mal, als ich dich das letzte Mal gesehen habe. Vielleicht brauchen Sie einen Haarschnitt, aber das bin nur ich (You're looking a lot better than when I last saw you. Might need a haircut, but that's just me).”

Perrine turned her attention to the rest of the children who were standing by and staring at what was going on, not really knowing what to do. She put up both her hands and announced, “This is Lieutenant Aaron Divale, The Saint of Calais and my friend. Say hello.”

“Hello Lieutenant Aaron Divale.” a rather haphazard chorus of young voices repeated, those that knew him sounding more enthusiastic than others.

The sudden outcry made Aaron blush a tad as he was put on the spot and was about to chuckle it away when his sharp eyes caught a sudden rush of movement. Whipping his head around, his orbs beheld a sight that made him gasp in shock. Running towards him with as much energy that she could muster was Alois, her brown hair longer now and still wearing the same white dress with a black bow around the waist and black shoes, panting like a dog in the summer sun. _Alois? What on earth is she doing here? Where's Jean-Luc?_ His thoughts paralyzed him as the little orphan girl that he had saved so long ago raced right up to him and grabbed him firmly by the right hand with both hands and cried out, “Aaron! Tu dois aider Jean-Luc ! Viens avec moi maintenant ! Il est par là (Aaron! You have to help Jean-Luc! Come with me now! He's this way)!”

All the questions he had disappeared and the only thing that replaced them was immediate action. “ Montrer la voie à Alois (Lead the way Alois).” he answered quickly. Together, the warlock and Alois darted away, weaving past the crowd of gawking children, leaving Christiane and Perrine in the proverbial dust. Long strides propelled Aaron forwards and it didn't take him very long to hear a child weeping around the corner of the orphanage proper. _Please God, I've lost one child already. Don't take another._ Once he rounded the corner, he saw Jean-Luc in the same white shirt, brown pants, and black shoes, sitting on his rump with his back to the wall, head tucked into his chest crying. Kneeling down, Divale took the boy by the shoulders and asked, “Jean-Luc? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? Tu es blessé (Jean-Luc? What's wrong? Are you hurt)?”

At the mention of his name, Jean-Luc stopped sobbing and looked up, his brown eyes wide open. “Aaron?”

“Oui. C'est moi (Yes. It's me).” the warlock responded, thanking his lucky stars that the boy looked perfectly fine. “Pourquoi pleures-tu (Why are you crying)?”

“Pierre est parti et je ne le trouve pas (Pierre is gone and I can't find him).” Jean-Luc sadly replied.

 _Pierre?_ Footfalls could be heard and he turned just in time to see Alois come to a halt, her normally pale face red with exertion and panting heavily. “Pierre est son ours en peluche qu’il a pris d’où nous étions (Pierre is (wheeze) his stuffed (wheeze) bear he took from (wheeze) where we were).” she huffed out, placing her left hand against the wall to steady herself. Soon afterwards, both Christiane and Perrine rounded the corner, looking less winded.

“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas Jean Luc (What's wrong Jean-Luc)?” Clostermann asked.

“Il a perdu son Pierre (He lost his Pierre).” Aaron answered. He then turned his attention to Jean-Luc who was in the process of drying his eyes with his right shirt sleeve. “On va te lever petit (Let's get you up little one).” he suggested. With a steady caring right hand, he guided Jean-Luc upright and dusted off his bottom. “Tu te souviens quand tu l’as eu pour la dernière fois (Do you remember when you had him last)?” he inquired.

The boy pointed off past the mowed grass and into small patch of much longer grass. “Je jouais à cache-cache et pouf, il était parti. J’ai essayé de le retrouver, mais je n’ai pas pu (I was playing hide and seek and poof, he was gone. I tried to find him again, but I couldn't).” he explained. He then looked up at Aaron, his eyes filled with desperation. “Pouvez-vous m’aider à trouver Pierre (Can you help me find Pierre)?” he queried.

Aaron smiled and nodded. “Bien sûr que si (Of course I will).” he replied. Looking at everyone else he added, “Nous le ferons tous. Monte sur mon dos et attends (We all will. Hop on my back and hold on).” With that, the warlock turned slightly to allow Jean-Luc to climbup on his back. It took him a bit of effort, but the young child got a good grip in no time. Placing his hands on the boy's knees, Divale stood up to his full height, making the youth marvel at just how high up he was and how small everything looked.

“I have to stay behind to watch the rest of the children.” Christiane piped up.

“Go and do it.” Perrine ordered politely while taking Alois by the left hand with her right. “Us four will search for the bear.” Barkhorn nodded and scampered off lest some child got in trouble. Clostermann watched her go for a few seconds before turning her attention back to Aaron who looked like he was right in his element, a weak smile on his face.

“Now if I were a little bear named Pierre, where would I be?” he mused, looking deep into the long grass that Jean-Luc pointed at. After a bit of thought, he regarded the French witch and couldn't help but shake his head.

“What?” Perrine asked, clearly puzzled.

“If a random passerby came up right now and saw us, they'd think that we're one big happy family.” Divale explained. The statement made his former wingman blush and the warlock simply started to walk on off to the long grass, the women right behind them.

Jean-Luc was spellbound as the world opened up that much more before his brown eyes, looking at and over things that even on his tippytoes he wouldn't be able to see. “Wow.” he managed to breathe out.

“Tout à fait la vue hein (Quite the view huh)?” Aaron remarked, his head panning left and right as he searched for the stuffed animal.

“C'est incroyable. J’ai l’impression d’être au sommet du monde (It's amazing. I feel like I'm on the top of the world).” the boy replied.

“Un jour, tu seras toi-même aussi grand (One day, you yourself will be this tall).” Divale pointed out.

“Est-ce que je serai grand aussi (Will I be tall too)?” Alois inquired from behind.

“Peut-être pas aussi grand qu’Aaron, mais tu seras certainement grand (Maybe not quite as tall as Aaron, but you'll certainly be tall).” Perrine answered.

Meanwhile, the quartet crossed the threshold of mowed lawn and into the wild long grass. The warlock went very slow, using his feet to push away the long blades of vegetation to get a better view. _Just like searching for landmines. God I hated that drill._ “Jusqu’où en êtes-vous allé Jean-Luc (How deep into this did you go Jean-Luc)?” he queried.

The child thought about it and replied, “I think it was close to here.”

 _That helps a tad. Where are you my furry little friend?_ Pivoting around while standing in the exact same spot, he search and searched until Aaron saw a small tuft of fluff two feet away. Getting down on his haunches, he reached out and triumphantly proclaimed, “Et le voilà (And there he is).”

Jean-Luc's face brightened so much he would've been mistaken for a second sun as the eighteen inch tall black bear came out of hiding in the long grass and into the afternoon light. “Pierre!” he shouted joyously. The boy grabbed the stuffed animal and held him tight against his chest, the legs dangling right over Aaron's eyes.

Alois saw the reunion and threw her free hand in the air. “Hourra (Hooray)!” she cried out. Perrine for her part just stared at Aaron, who was still temporarily blinded by stuff and fluff. _He's so good with children. He'd make an excellent father. Such a damn shame that he'll never have kids of his own._

“Je pense qu’on devrait tous rentrer maintenant (I think we should all head back now).” Divale suggested, parting the cotton blinders from his face. “Christiane s’inquiète peut-être pour toi (Christiane might be worried about you).” The children nodded, thankful for his help, and walked with Aaron and Perrine back to the orphanage proper. It didn't take very long and soon they stood around ten feet away from the entrance. Christiane was there, patiently waiting for their return.

“I see you found Pierre.” Barkhorn remarked.

“That we most certainly did.” the warlock replied, getting down on his knees so Jean-Luc could hop off his broad back. When the little boy made landfall, he stood back up and stated, “Courez maintenant et soyez bon parce que je saurai si vous ne l’êtes pas (Run along now and be good because I'll know if you're not).” Brother and sister smiled and nodded and together, they scampered off past their German babysitter and into the building, waving happily goodbye as they went. Aaron and Perrine returned the gesture and once the siblings disappeared from view, they started to walk along the side towards the chateau. “I never expected them to be here in a million years. I thought they would still be at Belhurst in London.” he commented.

“About a month after we disbanded, the old woman who took care of the place passed away, leaving it to her younger sister. She had no interest in taking care of the orphans and instead sold the building to the government for a hefty sum.” Clostermann explained, the second part of the statement not agreeing with her one bit.

Divale's eyes flashed with anger and he shook his head. _All those kids put out on the street for a payday. How could someone be that cold hearted?_ “I take it you heard about it and got them signed over to you.” he deduced.

“Only those who were native French I'm afraid.” the lieutenant admitted sadly. “They wouldn't let me take those from other nations, saying it wouldn't be proper to do so.”

“Some is better than none I guess.” the warlock consoled. He then regarded Perrine fully and added, “Thank you very much for what you did for Alois and Jean-Luc. That definitely puts my mind at ease.”

“Glad to hear that.” Perrine replied. She paused as she looked him over before continuing, “You have changed for the better. It's good to see you well and good again.”

“Are you doing alright?” Aaron asked, abruptly changing the subject. “I know it's none of my business, but I saw a bedroll in the study before coming out on the balcony. Have you been sleeping in there?”

Clostermann stopped walking and sighed, leaning back against the wall of the orphanage. “Most days I do indeed sleep in the study just for convenience sake. I've been very busy with all the things I've been doing here at the chateau. It requires a great deal of time and energy to coordinate it all. Need to stay on top of it or else it spills over into personal time.” she illuminated.

“I take it it has?” Divale pressed, cocking one eyebrow.

“There are days that I don't sleep all that well or forget to eat a meal or two, but I assure Aaron, I'm fine. Things are just a little hectic right now for me.” the French witch answered.

 _Well this looks familiar._ “You're starting to sound like someone that I used to know a long time ago, and he really got ground down.” the warlock pointed out. “You need to take some time for yourself once in awhile.”

“I know but-” Perrine started to reply, but her stomach suddenly growled loudly and she immediately placed her hands over it.

“That settles it.” Aaron declared, holding out his right hand to her. “I'm taking you somewhere away from here, free from all the stress and strain just for today. What you have to worry about can wait until tomorrow.” Clostermann grew annoyed and balled her hands into fists, sticking them into her hips, a pout evident on her face. The two stared each other down for a half minute until Divale emphatically quipped, “I'll wait here until doomsday if I have to. You're not going to win this argument.”

The memory of when he last said that to her in Dover Castle played out in Perrine's mind as the warlock stood his ground, refusing to budge for Hell or high water. _He was right about me then and he's right about me now._ She threw her hands up in the air in resignation and announced, “You win. I'll go wherever you want, but I'm not going out looking like this.”

****************************

“C’était la soupe la plus merveilleuse que j’ai jamais eue. C’est mieux que celui de ma mère (That was the most wonderful soup I've ever had. It's better than my mother's).” the thirty something old gentleman stated as he handed Lucille the money for the lunch he had.

“Merci beaucoup pour le complément (Thank you very much for the complement).” Lucille replied with a smile, counting the money mentally as she punched in the amount on the register keys. Once that was down, she pressed the total key and the drawer came open with a small ding. She fished out the change, closed the drawer, and was about to hand the change over, but the man waved it away, letting her know that it was hers to keep. Lucille nodded and watched him walk away from the register and out the burgundy red door to the packed restaurant. The establishment was a huge step up from what she had in the Resistance. Long gone were the ramshackle walls and creaky mismatched furniture and in their places were clean thick walls of smoothed brick with lamps in the design of a swan hanging over every table, booth, and bar stool. The stools and chairs were cushioned with red leather that was stuffed with goose feathers, the latter having a carved swan on the front and back of the backrest. As for the tables, they were covered with blue and white linen and had salt and pepper holders in the center next to tall vases with freshly picked flowers inside them. The floor had white and black tiling, the waitresses in her employ walking to and fro with loaded trays of steaming soup, fresh baked bread, and glasses of wine to wherever they needed to go. Above her, ceiling fans gently spun from the wooden beams. Though she was proud of the interior and those who worked for her, what she was most pleased with were the windows. Crafted by French artisans who had plied the trade for centuries, the panes were clear and clean, not so much as a speck of dirt or greasy smudge on them. _I'm sure they cost a fortune, but Leclerc said that they were worth it and, looking at it now with the sun shining through them, I agree._

The sound of the bell chiming at the top of the door knocked her out of her thoughts and she saw the gentleman tip his hat in thanks and walked on out the door. Lucille then went about her duties of minding the counter, but paused when she didn't hear the bell ring again. _Strange. It should chime when a person closes the door._ Curiosity overtook her and she took another look, only to see a large hand that had somehow managed to stop the door from closing. Slowly, it pried the door open and in stepped Aaron Divale with his uniform on as well as a young woman that Lucille had never seen before. She had straw yellow hair in a long braid, fox yellow eyes, and pale skin. Thin wire frame glasses rested comfortably on her face. The woman wore a most exquisite sapphire blue sundress made entirely of silk, the edges white with raised yellow fleur de lis and some sort of family crest separated by red diamonds. A white sash around the waist was secured by a gentle bow and two side loops on the back. A pair of black shoes completed the outfit. Once they crossed the threshold, Lucille turned to a nearby waitress and asked,” You mind covering for me while I go on break?”

The waitress nodded and Lucille got out from behind the counter, smiling at the approaching pair. Aaron returned the gesture and held his arms out wide, letting her fall into his embrace. “I told you I'd come up.” he remarked, holding her tight.

“You always keep your promises.” Lucille replied, giving him the traditional air cheek kiss greeting that the French gave to close friends before slipping free. Regarding the young lady by his side, she inquired, “And who is this beauty?”

“Henriette.” Perrine lied, masking her true identity. “Pleasure to meet you Mrs...”

“Lucille Leclerc, owner of the White Swan.” Lucille answered. She turned back to Aaron and queried, “Would you like a table, booth, or to sit up at the counter.”

“Table please.” Divale responded, eyeing one three top across the way that looked somewhat private and was in the process of being cleaned and reset.

“Right this way.” Lucille instructed, rounding on her heels. She led them over to the table within seconds, deftly weaving her form around people and chair legs. The waitress just finished getting the table cleaned and proper and politely offered Aaron and Perrine menus without a word. Lucille nodded in approval and sat down with the pair.

“You on break?” the warlock asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Just got started.” Lucille replied with a smile.

Perrine looked around the restaurant in wonder. “This place is incredible.” she remarked. “Must have have taken a lot of work.”

“Labors of love do take time, but they're always worth it in the end.” Lucille stated.

Aaron opened the menu and quickly perused its offerings. It was a simple two page affair, but it was very extensive and varied. There were hot and cold soups, chowders, stews, and a surprisingly good wine list. _She kept all of my favorites. Was that intentional I wonder?_ “What is your special today?” he inquired.

“That would be a lamb garbure with fresh bread and cheese on the side.” Lucille proudly answered.

“That sounds divine.” Divale commented. He gazed at the nearby waitress who had been patiently waiting for them to order and said, “Je vais prendre la garbure d’agneau et un verre de merlot s’il vous plaît (I'll have the lamb garbure and a glass of merlot please).”

“Je vais prendre la bisque de crabe avec du pain et pas de fromage s’il vous plaît et à boire, je vais aller pour le merlot ainsi (I'll have the crab bisque with bread and no cheese please and to drink I'll go for the merlot as well).” Lucille ordered.

“Excellents choix (Excellent choices).” the waitress piped up as she wrote down the orders. “And what would you like?” she asked, the question directed at Perrine.

Clostermann had no idea what to order from the menu, her stomach making it hard to commit. _They all sound so good. I can't decide._ Put on the spot, she managed to squeak out, “J’aurai ce qu’Aaron a. Une double portion si ça ne vous dérange pas (I'll have what Aaron's having. A double portion if you don't mind).”

“Pas du tout (Not at all).” the waitress replied. Once she jotted down Perrine's order she added, “Tout devrait être prêt dans quelques minutes. Je vais prendre tes boissons maintenant (It should all be ready in a few minutes. I'll be getting your drinks now.)” She then left the three of them to their own devices, strolling over behind the counter.

“Now, don't think I'm trying to pry Aaron, but is she...” Lucille started to inquire. The warlock gave the woman a sideways glance and saw that she was patting her stomach, the low key sign for pregnant.

“Henriette is just very hungry. She's been working very hard lately and hasn't had much time to eat.” Aaron replied, dodging the usage of the p word with the expertise of a fencer. The French witch for her part blushed, not saying a word.

“Well she's going to have that remedied right quick.” Lucille pointed out with a flick of her eyes. The duo peered in the direction she indicated and saw the same waitress coming to their table with a small tray of three wine glasses, the bottle of merlot in the exact center. “Allow me.” she offered, taking the corkscrew and uncorking the wine bottle with ease once the tray was placed down at the table. The sound of the cork coming out was loud, but considering the chit chat going on all around them, no one seemed to pay it any mind, instead enjoying their food and drink. Lucille then poured the wine into the glasses, leaving the traditional thumb width distance from the top. “I'd like to propose a toast.” she announced, taking up her glass. “To good food and even better friends.” Three glasses clinked and sips were taken.

As Aaron drank the alcohol, his taste buds reacted in a way that made him think that he knew somehow that he had this particular vintage. _Hmm. Most interesting. This definitely reminds me of when I pantry raided this one house north of the chateau when I crash landed there back in 43._ Curious, he reached out and turned the bottle so that the label was facing him. Written in flowing black lettering were the words: _**Clostermann Winery 1942**_. Regarding Perrine, he cocked his eyebrow and asked, “Do you know where this winery is Henriette?”

“Oh yes.” Perrine answered with a sly smile, swirling the wine in her glass. “ It's the Clostermann chateau over in Agincourt. They've been doing so for over three centuries if I'm correct.”

“And they're very good at it too.” Lucille pointed out. “Best reds you'll find this far east.” Her face then darkened and she looked at Aaron. “I heard something happened in St Omer last night, that there was a break in and murder at the house that Marie was in. Is she alright?”

Divale took a sip of his wine and sighed, remembering the tragedy. “She's with her mother now.” he simply replied.

Clostermann gazed at the two, wondering what they were talking about. “And where is her mother?” she inquired. The warlock gave her a sad sideways glance, saying nothing at all, but telling her everything she needed to know. Instantly regretting the question, the witch tried to apologize, but he quickly reached out and placed his right hand over her shoulder, letting her know that she didn't need to. Suddenly, the smell of warm soup wafted through the air and Perrine's head darted in the direction of the wondrous odor. Making her way across the room was the waitress holding a large serving tray, followed by another who carried wooden tray stand. The new arrival opened the stand and placed it near the table. The tray soon followed and there the food was, bowls of warm garbure and bisque with bread and cheese on a wooden platter. Napkins and serving utensils were there as well and the waitress moved like the wind, passing out everyone's orders.

“Et vous êtes tous là. Si tu as besoin d’autre chose, crie-moi (And there you all are. If you need anything else, give me a shout).” she stated.

“Si c’est le cas, j’aurai besoin de ta main s’il te plaît (If that's the case, I'll need your hand if you please).” Aaron replied while reaching into his front pants pocket. He pulled out his wallet and took out some francs. “Pour un excellent service de votre part tous les deux (For excellent service from you both).” he said, offering her the money. The waitress nodded, accepting the tip and went on her way, divvying up the currency with her coworker as she walked. He didn't watch her go and instead marveled at the soup that he was about to devour. Divale could tell right away that the broth was thick, as it should be, with large pieces of lamb in the center surrounded by cabbage, potatoes, onions, carrots, beets, and fava beans. The steam coiled up around his nose and he inhaled deeply. _Never lose that touch Lucille._

“Let's eat.” Perrine piped up, laying her napkin on her lap and taking up her fork. She jammed it into her double portion of garbure, the bowl practically overflowing with the huge mound of in the center, extracting a long portion of lamb and popping it into her hungry mouth. Clostermann moaned as food, real solid food was chewed and swallowed, the flavor of the meat and broth in perfect harmony, and continued to chow down as Aaron and Lucille ate.

“So how has business been for you?” Aaron asked Lucille while he placed some of the vegetables and meat between two small pieces of bread.

“Wonderful.” Lucille answered, dipping a slice of bread into her bisque. “Customers line up out into the street waiting for me to open up in the morning. My pricing is very good and you get what you pay for.”

“So it's always full?” Perinne inquired.

“It's definitely hectic in the morning and afternoon, but there is a slight downturn in the evenings so it gives me and my girls some breathing room. Soup for dinner doesn't sound appealing I guess.” Lucille replied. She ate the bisque covered bread and then picked up the bowl of soup, tilting it so she could drink the thick broth. After making quick work of it and wiping her mouth with her napkin, she politely excused herself from the table. “Have to get back to work and hopefully cover someone else's break.” Lucille explained. “Thank you very much for stopping by Aaron. You have made my day.”

“Anytime.” Divale replied. Lucille gave him a quick hug and then walked over to the register. Turning his attention to Clostermann, he queried, “How do you like it?”

“I love it.” the witch responded, her efforts making a sizable dent in the garbure. “Does she make them all?”

“I'm sure she isn't the only one, but the recipes are one hundred percent hers. I've had everything on the menu more than once when she was with the Resistance. To be honest, I think they have gotten better now that she has a steady supply of fresh products and a real kitchen to cook in.” the warlock pointed out. He finished up his soup, except the broth, and leaned back in his chair, letting his stomach get a little bit more room. As he did so, he took a quick glance at Perrine's bowl and got a bit concerned. Though he had just stopped eating, she was a few potatoes and pieces of meat away from being the same. The sight made him really wonder how many meals she skipped or if Lucille was really on to something with her earlier comment.

Several seconds later, Clostermann shoveled the last bit of the garbure into her mouth and took a quick sip from her wine to wash it down. “Ahh.” she sighed, reaching for her napkin. “That hit the spot.”

“I bet it did.” Aaron agreed, low key impressed with the gastronomical feat. “But now, we come to the best part.” He then took up his glass of merlot and dumped the rest of the contents, a good half full glass, into the broth, using his spoon to mix it up. Recognizing the traditional chabrot, Perrine copied the gesture. “You know of the chabrot?” Divale asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“My mother was born in southern France just outside of Bordeaux.” Clostermann illuminated, placing her now empty glass back on the table.

 _Occitan._ The two then raised their bowls up, gently clinked the porcelain, and began to drink the still warm broth. “Certainly beats a cup of tea huh?” Divale remarked, pausing in his consumption.

“That it does.” the witch acknowledged. “Though my marigold tea might match it.”

The warlock chuckled, letting her have her pride and slurped the last of the broth down his throat. Perrine finished right on his heels just as the waitress came over and asked, “Voulez-vous un dessert ou après l’apéritif (Would you like any dessert or post meal aperitif)?”

“Oh I think we're a bit past that. All of it was wonderful.” Aaron answered.

He made a move to get out his wallet and the waitress shook her right hand from side to side. “Mon employeur m’a dit que votre repas est gratuit. Profitez du reste de votre journée (My employer told me that your meal is free of charge. Enjoy the rest of your day).” she stated.

 _Oh Lucille, you spoil me so well. Guess that pays back all the time I tipped you._ “Dites-lui que la Saint-Calais la remercie pour sa générosité (Tell her the Saint of Calais thanks her for her generosity).” Divale requested. Both he and Perrine excused themselves from the table and walked on towards the door as the waitress began to clear and reset. He gave a quick look over his right shoulder and saw Lucille standing at the register, smiling from ear to ear and waving goodbye. Aaron waved back with a gentle smile on his face and opened the door graciously to let Perrine out first. He followed soon after her and the two walked together down the street, taking in the sights and sounds of a re-energized Lille. It was much more built up than St Omer and it didn't catch either of them by surprise. Given its close proximity to the Belgian border, important railway junctions, a large river port, and the fact that it had a still functioning connection to the Maginot Line along the German border to the south, it was dubbed an absolute priority by the Allied Command. This status allowed it to receive much more funding than normal and it showed. What was once a nearly leveled metropolis was now just as vibrant and lively as Aaron remembered it back in '42. The tall buildings of course weren't so tall anymore and there were some glaring holes in the streets indicating where structures couldn't be saved, but their absence didn't take away anything substantial. Where they were the streets had been repaved and even widened in parts, turning alleyways into avenues and avenues into boulevards, giving the place a larger sense of scale. The French flag flew high and proud from makeshift flag stands from every home and shop they passed. Yet all this couldn't begin to compare with sheer number of people, both civilian and military and young and old that traipsed all around, going about their business. “It's like it had never been damaged at all.” Aaron absentmindedly muttered.

“I know right?” Perrine replied, equally impressed. She stretched out her arms and patted her now sated stomach. “I think I've eaten for two whole days.”

“Not to take away from the experience,” Divale countered, “but soup doesn't keep you full for very long. Your body digests it quite easily.”

“I didn't know that.” the witch remarked.

“And I didn't know that your family got me drunk damn near every night back in the day.” the warlock commented. The pair laughed for a bit until he added, “You're also very good at keeping up this disguise. I'm impressed.”

“Like you, I've had to take on a false identity.” Perrine explained.

Aaron furrowed his brow, the tone in her voice making him concerned. “Why is that?”

“Nothing important really.” Clostermann answered, trying to drop the subject.

 _Well that's a lie._ Divale then placed his left hand on the witch's shoulder, gently applying enough resistance to get her to stop. “Anything that makes you feel uneasy when you go outside the chateau is something that I wouldn't call nothing important.” His former wingman looked away, but he continued to press the issue. “Look Perrine, we're friends aren't we? You can tell me why.”

Perrine sighed and gazed right back at him. “I've been the subject of numerous advances by various well to do men recently.” she illuminated, clearly not proud of being courted.

“As in marriage I take it.” Divale insinuated, letting his hand go from her shoulder and resuming the walk.

“Unfortunately.” Clostermann replied gloomily. “They come from everywhere. Some even said to me that they came all the way from Marseilles just to ask for my hand, bringing me so many gifts like flowers, chocolates, clothing, and jewelry. But I know better than to fall for their sweet lies. I know all they want is a shot in inheriting a portion of my father's fortune, not in anything that I can provide.”

“Then I humbly suggest that if your father has a will somewhere that you tell him to amend it as fast as possible. That will knock the gusto out of them.” the warlock suggested.

The witch shook her head. “My father comes from another time. Back then, all things financial were split between husband and wife if the parents died. He's too set in his ways to change overnight.” she reasoned.

“I still have some considerable pull with the local Resistance cells around Agincourt. With a bit of luck, I can get into contact with them and have them ward off these so called gentleman for you so you can have peace of mind for a change.” the warlock countered.

“Aaron.” Perrine stated, taking him by the left hand as she did so. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can take care of them myself.”

The warmth of her tiny hand caught Aaron off guard and for a brief moment, didn't know what to say or do. “I... I'm sorry Perrine. Old wingman habits die hard. I'll back off.” he finally relented, giving her hand a small squeeze. He let go and just as he did so, his nose caught the distinctive smell of tea leaves. “I think I found a place where you can replenish your stock of tea. Let's go see what they got.” he offered.

Clostermann nodded enthusiastically and she walked alongside Aaron, following his nose more than anything. They made a few turns to the left and right, crossing streets and deftly weaving among the people that regarded the duo with nary a glance. It took a few minutes, but eventually they found themselves face to face with a large walk in stall just off the main drag. A banner over the booth read in faux gold lettering: Beaumont's Tea Boutique. Holding down the shop was older gentleman in his golden years, the tell tale signs of male pattern baldness well underway, wearing an absolutely garish looking candy apple red suit with a green tie and white undershirt, looking more like a ringleader in a circus than a shopkeeper. His warm blue eyes regarded them and his wizened face cracked a broad smile. “Ah, bienvenue à mes chers chers, bienvenue à beaumont’s Tea Boutique, la meilleure source pour tous vos besoins en thé. Je suis Louis Beaumont, fier propriétaire. Mes marchandises vous intéressent (Ah, welcome my darling dears, welcome to Beaumont's Tea Boutique, the finest source for all your tea needs. I'm Louis Beaumont, proud owner and proprietor. Are you interested in my wares)?”

“Mais bien sûr, mon homme bien (But of course my good man).” Aaron replied, imitating Beaumont's style perfectly with a smile of his own. “Nous sommes venus d’Agincourt elle-même pour parcourir et acheter vos parures sans aucun doute fines (We've come all the way from Agincourt herself to peruse and purchase your undoubtedly fine finery).”

“C’est tellement agréable de rencontrer deux jeunes comme vous qui parlent avec tant d’éloquence et de respect (It's so nice to meet two youngsters like yourselves that speak so eloquently and respectfully).” Beaumont stated. He then stepped off to the side and gestured to the wide open portal inside the stall. “Venez voir ce que nous avons à Beaumont’s Tea Boutique (Come on in and see what we at Beaumont's Tea Boutique have to offer).” With happy steps, both Divale and Clostermann strolled on through and were floored by what they saw inside. From one side of the walk in stall to the other, arranged with great care on three long tables, were all sorts of tea paraphernalia of all shapes, sizes, and styles. On the left were tea pots and kettles, some of iron, ceramic, glass, and porcelain. There were also cups, saucers, spoons, tongs for sugar, and fresh cream pourers. Proper cleaning guides were placed on a small shelf in the center of that particular table as well as the tool for accomplishing that task. Over on the right were stacks and stacks of full sets, each one handcrafted with an exotic wood, all of them wide open and tilted at an angle so that a customer could see what the inside would look like. Many were locally sourced or from England while others reminded Aaron of what he saw in North Africa, Russia, and Japan. There were also tea humidors made of sycamore and not the traditional cedar as most were, all in various shapes and colors. Right in front of them at the center table were large dark glass jars that even in the low light of the interior one could tell that they were filled with whole tea leaves, little placards on front of each one indicating what they were. Even then, there was still more. Dangling from the ceiling were dried herbs, spices, and tiny glass vials of oils, all ingredients to make herbal teas, hanging from blue and yellow strings. It truly was a sight and the pair could do nothing but stand just inside the threshold with their mouths agape.

“Now this is something special.” Aaron commented, breaking the silence.

“You're not kidding.” Perrine agreed with a small nod, slowly walking around and taking in all the sights.

“Assurez-vous de prendre votre temps (Be sure to take your time).” Beaumont stated from behind them. “Vous ne saurez jamais ce que vous trouverez (You'll never know what you'll might find).”

With his polite prodding, Divale then made his way to the center table, his vision more than enough to discern what he was looking for. He had to hunch over just to fit inside, but he paid it no mind. “Maintenant, le thé Earl Gray est fait de feuilles de thé noir, mais je suis déchiré entre le keenum traditionnel ou le plus nouveau Ceylan. Que recommanderiez-vous à M. Beaumont (Now, Earl Gray tea is made of black tea leaves, but I'm torn between the traditional keenum or the newer Ceylon. What would you recommend Mr. Beaumont)?” he asked.

“Cela dépend de la force avec avec qui vous aimez vos thés. Ceylan est beaucoup plus puissant que keenum. En outre, les saveurs sont différentes ainsi. Ceylan a un goût d’agrumes à elle tandis que keenum est légèrement fumé (That depends on how strong you like your teas. Ceylon is much more potent than keenum. In addition, the flavors are different as well. Ceylon has a citrus taste to it while keenum is slightly smoky).” Louis replied.

The warlock looked over at Clostermann who was eyeing a vial of bergamot oil hanging overhead and gave her a questioning look. She caught the jest of it and answered, “Certainement le Ceylan (Definitely the Ceylon).”

“Choix splendide. Combien voulez-vous (Splendid choice. How much would you like)?” the shopkeeper queried, rubbing his hands together, happy that a sale was occurring.

“Assez pour au moins trente tasses s’il vous plaît (Enough for at least thirty cups please).” the witch responded, taking down the oil vial with care. “Plus cette huile de bergamote et cet humidificateur de thé bleu sur cette table là avec les coquillages roses sur le côté (Plus this oil of bergamot and that blue tea humidor on that table there with the pink sea shells on the side).”

Beaumont walked over to the right hand table and picked up the tea humidor that Perrine wanted. Then he went to the center table and opened one of the jars. After picking up a tiny pair of silver tongs, he carefully took out the tea, leaf by leaf, counting in his head the number needed to fulfill the request. It took the greater part of five minutes before, Louis put the tongs back down, resealed the jar and handed it over to Perrine. “Ce sera 500 francs (That will be five hundred francs).” he stated. _That's a bit high, but the quality is still good._ Aaron reached into his pocket and got out his wallet. Thumbing through, he found the bills and presented them to the happy shopkeeper. “Un plaisir de faire affaire avec vous deux. Reposez-vous agréablement (A pleasure doing business with you both. Have a pleasant rest of your day).”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Perrine share words, gifts, and a dance under the stars before the warlock is once again called back to North Africa.

_ **Chapter XXVIII: The Last Dance** _

_The more time I spend with her, the more I come to realize that I should cherish moments with my new friends here and across the way more than I used to. Back then, I held back due to unease and fear. Now, with everything so uncertain, including my life and what will one day happen after North Africa is secured, the thought of never seeing them again is provoking me to action. I just hope it's not too late and that we'll one day be reunited._

Diary Entry July 16th 1944

Perrine took the tea kettle off the heated stove top panel with a thick cloth and placed it down on the tray carefully as not to spill its contents. The heavy citrus reek of the bergamot oil billowed out of the spout, the steam smoke curling into the air of the kitchen. Off to her right, Aaron was already reaching into the cupboards above, pulling out a pair of tea cups and saucers. After going to Beaumont's Tea Boutique, they spent the better part of the afternoon walking all over Lille, doing a bit of sightseeing and sampling bits of street food from vendors they met along the way. They saw the Lille Cathedral, the Porte de Roubaix, the Rihour Palace, and the famed Column of the Goddess that commemorated Lille's dogged resistance against the Austrian attack during the French Revolution. It was a breathtaking miracle that they had survived the Neuroi attack over a year ago and it filled her heart with joy at seeing them mostly unharmed. _France lives and always will._ The excursion came to an end and they left the city close to four in the evening, coming back home to her chateau in Agincourt by five. Together, they helped prepare the tea, following the recipie left by Bishop, and would soon enjoy the fruit of their labors.

Divale placed the tea cups and saucers on the island counter and Clostermann tested the tea kettle handle. It had cooled down enough to touch bare handed and she took it and proceeded to pour the earl gray. “I think I have it down pat this time.” she commented as she retracted the kettle to move on to the next cup.

“Of course you do.” the warlock replied. “With me by your side, there's no way we mucked it up.” Soon, the tea was poured and the kettle set aside. Both former wingmen took up their cups and he proclaimed, “To much needed and deserved grand day out.” Cups were delicately clinked and the tea was consumed.

As the earl gray raced down her throat, the French witch closed her eyes in bliss. _Now that's the earl gray I've been wanting. Perrine, you have done it yet again._ She licked her lips and sighed. “Wonderful.” Perrine remarked.

“Indeed.” Aaron concurred, sitting down on a nearby stool. His uniform top had been taken off, folded, and placed at the far end of the island counter, his white T-shirt looking more orange and red as it caught the rays of the setting sun through the window. As he got comfortable, he looked over at Perrine who was still in her Henriette disguise, smiling and relaxed for the first time in a good while as she leaned up against the counter. _I think you did good today Aaron._ “I think I might have to get the recipe from Lynette the next time I see her.” he added.

“I have it in my study if you want to copy it.” Clostermann pointed out, gesturing with her left hand out into the dining room and up the stairs.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think asking permission first would be the proper way to go.” Divale countered.

“Suit yourself.” the witch said, shrugging her shoulders. She took another sip and placed the cup on the saucer. Regarding her friend, Perrine cleared her throat and stated, “Thank you very much Aaron for everything you did for me today. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” Aaron answered with a slight nod. “You deserved and needed it to get back to the Perrine I know.” Clostermann then took up her saucer and walked up next to Divale, sitting down in the empty stool by his right side. Gazing up at him, her brow furrowed and her fox yellow eyes seemed to search for something. “Is something wrong?” he asked, unsure of what to make of this strange behavior.

“Some time ago, I got a letter from Amelie. She said that you were not doing so well. Are you okay?” Perrine inquired, concern evident in her voice.

At that, the warlock put his cup down on his saucer and readjusted his position so that he was now facing the witch. “It's no open secret that Lucretia's death hit me hard and going off to a new theater didn't help in terms of coping with it. I got assigned to the 31st JFS Afrika, same as Amelie and many others, and the commanding officer, Lieutenant Marseilles, didn't really like me very much. Imagine Minna when she first met me and didn't warm up to me at all and you'd have Hanna. Overall, my experiences with her weren't good and she made my stay there a living hell. During that time, I sank deeper into depression, got more emotional, and people got really scared as they saw me walk down the path of self destruction. They knew something had to be done and, one night, Amelie's friend and fellow 114th Engineers member Juliette Deveraux confronted me about it.” he explained.

“What did she do?” Clostermann queried.

“She let me have it. That woman didn't give an inch as she berated me, forcing me to acknowledge things that I never could otherwise. Not to David after Larissa died, not even to Lucretia when I got evacuated from France. All my barriers were smashed like glass and I had no defense to protect me from the fact that I was afraid of getting better, that I wrongfully stopped myself from becoming a better man for fear of losing who I was, of risking having all the memories of the past be forgotten. I admitted to her that for years, I've thought of myself as weak, useless, inferior, using the deaths of my men, of Larissa, and Lucretia as excuses for what I put myself through. She forced me to admit that my denial of being a hero was also a part of it and that I needed to stop being afraid and to stop using people as excuses and merely listen to advice instead of applying it to my life as a whole. Juliette then made me swear that I would put in a honest effort to get well and to change and I promised her right then and there. In return, everyone in the unit would help me.” Aaron continued.

“Whoever this Juliette Deveraux is, she sounds like strong woman.” Perrine deduced, amazed at the tale being told. She leaned in and asked, “Is it possible you can give me her frequency? I'd really much like to talk with her.”

A lump formed in Divale's throat as he recollected how Juliette died. “I'm afraid your words will merely fall on deaf ears. She's dead. An explosion got her.” he stated. “I think you and her would've had much in common had she lived.”

Clostermann's heart sank upon hearing the news that another brave witch of France had been killed by the enemy. “I'm sorry for your loss.” she sincerely stated.

“Telle est la guerre (Such is war).” the warlock replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But regardless, I've not forgotten the promise I made to her. Never again will I go back to that man.” He then pointed to himself with his right hand and said with emphasis, “This man is here to stay, a man that is not ashamed of himself and who accepts that he is a hero.”

“Speaking of hero,” Perrine quipped, “I have something for you that would complement your DSO there.” She downed the rest of the cup of earl gray and added, “I'll be right back. Wait here.” Aaron opened his mouth to try to ask what she was getting or if she wanted him to come with here, but Perrine was gone like the wind, leaving him all alone in the kitchen. _What could she possibly mean by that?_ He got up from his chair, taking his tea with him, and walked to the large window that looked out over the eastern side of the chateau. The sun was nearing the end, the bright yellow orb slowly disappearing from view. Darkness crept up within the fading reds, oranges, and purples and began to spew out, bathing the land in night bit by bit. As evening finally fell, Divale leaned forwards and looked downwards to the right. His vision adjusted to the changing conditions and his eyes beheld a pair of cellar doors, two rough hewn slabs of wood slightly longer than normal. They weren't painted as they normally would be and the hinges looked bent and uneven. He smiled and sighed. _Didn't even replace them huh? Guess she either hasn't got around to it or it's another example of the whole 'If it ain't broke; don't fix it'._ Approaching footsteps from the dining room across the way broke him out of his memories and Aaron turned and saw Perrine come right back into the room holding a small wooden box with the fleur de lis branded on the top. His eyes widened in shock. _Is that the same Croix de Guerre that I gave her?_ When Clostermann got close enough, he held out the box and explained, “When I was applying to volunteer for the relief efforts, I ran into General de Gaulle. We got to talking and eventually you came up in the conversation. He said that while it was a noble thing to do on your part to give me credit for the success of the mission, you deserved to be recognized for your accomplishments. So, the general went and ordered a new one to be given to you. It's the same as mine. Here.”

Recovering somewhat from his surprise, the warlock took the box out of his friend's hands, laid it on the island, and opened it. In what light still remained in the kitchen, he could see the familiar shape of the Croix de Guerre, a bronze square cross medal with two crossed swords over a symbol of the republic, hanging from a green and red ribbon with two degree pins, a bronze palm and silver gilt gold palm. Aaron took the award from the box with his free hand and couldn't help but get a little teary eyed. Looking over at Perrine who simply stared back at him with a smile, he offered the medal to her and asked, “Mind doing the honors?”

Clostermann nodded and took the decoration from his hand. Divale then finished the rest of his tea, put the cup down on the island, and got down on a knee, making it easier for here to affix the medal on his chest. The witch deftly attached the award next to the DSO within two seconds and stepped back as he rose back up to his full height. “Looks good on you.” she remarked. “They need more company though.”

“Oh they have company.” Aaron playfully joked. “I have another uniform covered from front to back in Purple Hearts.” The two laughed for a good bit until the warlock's stomach started to grumble loudly like an idling tank engine in a cave. “And it appears that I need more company there as well.”

“Mine too.” Clostermann admitted. “What would you like?”

 _How in the hell are you hungry after a double portion of lamb garbure?_ “I'm thinking something simple but savory. Like, uh... chicken chasseur.” Divale suggested.

The witch's eyes brightened when she heard him say that. “I love chicken chasseur!” she exclaimed. “It's my favorite meal in the whole world! My mother used to make it all the time!” She made a move to go get some things out of the cabinets, but stopped and blushed with embarrassment. “However, I never really helped her make it and I never learned how.” she acknowledged.

“That's not a problem at all.” the warlock declared with confidence. “That was one of the first few recipes that Jonathan taught me back in the day. Have no fear. Tonight, not only will you have the best chicken chasseur you'll ever have, but I will teach you how to make it from start to finish.”

*************

Perrine got up next to Aaron as he put on a white cooking apron, tying off the ends with some trouble considering his frame, and waited for him to begin. Once he got the apron tied around his waist, Divale cracked his knuckles loudly and turned to Clostermann. “Now, pay attention carefully because there won't be any do overs, but if you do have a question about what I'm doing and why, don't be afraid to ask.” he stated. The witch nodded and the warlock continued. “The very first thing you do before you start cooking is wash your hands.” he explained. Reaching over, he turned on the water, grabbed some soap, and started to clean his hands. “When I was in Russia, I would see men and women get back from the front lines reeking from not having a bath, bodies completely covered in Lord knows what, and start making meals for themselves. As you could well imagine, some of what was on their hands wasn't supposed to be inside their bellies and it made them horribly sick to the point where they had to be taken off the line. The last report we managed to intercept before the country fell had to do with how many of these people had more or less poisoned themselves. Take a guess as to how many.” he mused.

Perrine thought about if for a bit while Aaron dried his hands with a nearby towel. “It would have be high if a report was filed so I'm going to guess fifty or maybe seventy five thousand.” she decided.

Aaron managed to crack a wry smile and replied, “A quarter million actually.” The answer made his friend's eyes bug out and her jaw drop. “Imagine if those quarter million people had washed their hands before making their food. If they had, those numbers would've delayed the inevitable by a good three or four months. Moral of the story, if you don't want to get sick after a good meal, always, always, always wash your hands before you even think about touching anything food related.” he illuminated. He then regarded the tools that he was going to cook with. While Perrine gathered the fresh ingredients, he had assembled two cutting boards, a small bowl, a small knife, a medium knife, a sharpener, and a pair of tongs. A four inch deep cooking pan sat on the leftmost stove burner, the coils red with heat. “An important lesson to learn here is remembering to preheat your pans or stove for a good five to ten minutes. It cuts down on the cooking time immensely. Plus, know what you need. Spending time searching for a knife or a pan takes your attention away from cooking. Never leave your food unattended because if it sits too long, it will ruin the dish. Mind sitting down near the island while I transfer all of this over?” he instructed.

Clostermann sprang into action, going around the island as to not bump into Divale. She sat down on a stool and watched as her friend moved everything, placing them next to what she helped gather. Slightly off center were two chicken breasts on a plate, two shallots, fresh tarragon, a half dozen mushrooms, two tomatoes, two cups of fresh pressed tomato juice, a quarter stick of butter, a bottle of high end brandy and white wine, a half cup of flour in a small bowl, and a cup of chicken stock. “A smart chef, if he knows what he's going to cook, will always do prep work.” the warlock pointed out.

“To cut down the cooking time some more.” the witch deduced.

“Correct. Very good.” Aaron congratulated. He picked up the medium sized knife and sharpener and started to sharpen it, turning away from the food and cooking equipment as he did so. “Always make sure that your knives are sharp. A chef who uses a dull knife is not a chef, they're a butcher. You want the food to not only taste good, but look good. Great presentation is a vitally important part of cooking and you can't get that with a dull knife. Even if it's for a complete stranger, leaving a good impression with their food shows them how much you care. Also, always sharpen away from the food and the equipment. I've no problem with adding extra iron in my diet, but that's not the kind I want.” he explained with a sly smile at the end. When he was done with that knife, wiping the blade free from shavings with his apron, he went on to the next, getting it sharp faster than one could say 'hello and good day'.

With that done, he pulled the plate of raw chicken breasts towards one of the cutting boards and gently moved them onto the cutting surface with the medium knife, his hands not touching the meat. “Next comes proper portioning. For a standard chicken breast like these two, you'd get four servings each and a serving would be roughly the size of a deck of cards.” he stated.

“Why would you portion, beyond getting everyone a fair share I mean?” Perrine asked.

“If the ingredients aren't in proportion, that will throw off what you're trying to accomplish with your dish. It changes the flavor, the consistency, everything. That, and if you don't portion right, some of the food might not be cooked all the way and no one wants to sink their teeth into cold under cooked chicken.” Aaron answered. He then made his left hand into a cat's paw, curling the fingers the front half on his fingers back, the middle knuckles pointing straight down. “When you cut, do the exact same thing that I'm doing, curl your fingers back like so. This position will secure what your trying to cut and protect your hands. The flat end of the middle knuckle will help guide the knife.” With deft ease, Divale began to portion the chicken, the knife doing the job for him, the tension in his right hand and wrist nonexistent. It didn't take long for him to finish and he then slid the cut breasts into the bowl of flour, placing the used knife and cutting board into a wash basin on the kitchen counter. “After handling any sort of meat, you wash your hands again.” he advised as he used his magic to turn the water on.

“My mother used to do that too.” Clostermann recalled. “She said that it would get you sick if you didn't. I never did get sick off my mother's cooking so I don't really know if that's true or not.”

“And your mother would be correct.” Aaron agreed, lathering his hands with soap. “Not all meat is rendered equal. Some desperate farmers sell meat from animals that are sick, have abscesses, riddled with parasites inside their bellies, all to get an extra buck. Did she buy from a certain person if you don't mind me asking?”

“I think so.” Perrine responded in an uncertain tone.

“Considering you never got ill, I think she did. A smart chef, or any buyer rather, will always buy from people and places that can be trusted. That way, you protect yourself more.” Divale stated, shutting off the faucet and drying off his hands with the towel. Turning back to the island, he took the bowl of flour and started to dredge the cut chicken breasts. “You will notice that I left the skin on the chicken. I did that for two reasons, first is that the fat inside that skin will add more flavor to the sauce later on when it's rendered and the flour will give it a nice golden sear.” As he smeared the flour all over the meat, he looked over at the butter and then back at Perrine. “Mind putting that in the pan over there please?” he asked.

Clostermann took the quarter stick of butter on the butter tray and walked on over to the lit burner. When she got there, she tipped the tray upside down and let gravity do the work for her. The second the butter hit the pan, it sizzled like a strip of bacon, the fat bubbling outwards like a golden froth. The witch then made an attempt to get around Aaron to take care of the dirty tray, but he was already at her side with the bowl of flour and now fully coated chicken breast pieces. One by one, he placed them skin side down on the pan, moving each around a bit to spread the butter out. “Mind taking this for me?” she inquired, offering the butter tray.

“Not at all. Put it in.” Aaron replied, holding out the mostly empty bowl. She gently set it in there and he went over to the sink, deposited the butter tray in the wash basin, scooped out whatever flour was left into a nearby trash bin, and then took care of the dirty dish. Once again, Divale started to wash his hands.

“You ever get tired of constantly washing your hands all the time?” Perrine queried.

“Nope.” the warlock answered, the lather feeling good on his fingertips. “It's kind of therapeutic for me.” Once he was done and dried, he went over to the island and picked up the small knife and sharpener. Turning away from the food, his hands moved like lightning as he sharpened the blade. After wiping the knife clean with his apron, he then grabbed the shallots, arranged them tight together on the other cutting board, and started chopping, using the same technique he did with the chicken. “For these shallots here, we go fine. When we add them, it won't take long for them to cook.”

Perrine watched spellbound as his left hand seemed to not move at all, but the shallots rapidly disappeared into the thinnest slices that she'd ever seen. _My goodness! Those are so thin that I can see the cutting board underneath them!_ “How long did it take you to really get good at that?” she asked.

Aaron looked up at her, still chopping up a storm without skipping a beat, and responded, “About a year of constant practice with Jonathan. You might think that my initial combat training when I was younger would help, but it really didn't. Killing is a lot more different than cutting up vegetables and whenever I tried to proverbially and literally cut corners, he let me have it.” He then regarded his work and added, “Regardless of how good you are, you should never ever do what I did just now. Always pay attention when you use knives. Over ninety nine percent of all knife accidents in the kitchen are a result of not paying attention.” Just as he finished that bit of advice, the shallots were all done and he picked up the cutting board, the knife still held firmly in his other hand. “Get those tongs and follow me.” he instructed. Clostermann did as she was told and went around the opposite side of him. The smell of the cooking chicken was mouthwatering and she couldn't help but lick her lips in expectation. Divale then took the tongs from her hand and said, “Now pay attention to this part.” He then reached in with the tongs, clamped gently around a piece of chicken and turned it over, revealing a lovely golden sear. “This is what you want when making this dish, that golden sear. To get that, you need to have this stove at a medium temperature. Don't go higher than that or else you'll end up burning it.” he pointed out. He then did the same with all the other pieces, moving them off to the sides of the pan. “Why am I doing this?” he out of the blue asked.

The question caught Perrine off guard momentarily, but then saw Aaron pick up the cutting board with the fine sliced shallots on it and she ventured, “So there's a space to put them?”

“You in the right direction, but not quite.” he stated, sliding the shallots into the open space he created with the knife. “If I simply dumped them with no regard for placement, some of those shallots will land on the meat and not in the pan, and if they're not on the pan, they don't cook and you'll have raw shallots in the final product.” The warlock gave them a quick stir and added, pointing with the tongs along the side of a chicken piece, “Notice how even that is? Another important piece of cooking is managing your time effectively. Count down in your head how many seconds your food is cooking and remember that when you flip so that it will cook evenly.” Aaron put down the tongs on the cool parts of the stove, reached behind him, and grabbed the two bottles of alcohol, the necks clasped firmly between his fingers. He put them down near the tongs and opened the brandy. “ When dealing with brandy for glaze, or any liquid ingredient for that matter, you never add directly on the food. Always go along the sides of the pan like so.” he explained.

Clostermann nodded in understanding and Divale covered the mouth of the brandy bottle with his right thumb, raising the knuckle a little bit, and poured along the edges of the pan, quickly moving counterclockwise twice before stopping. As he moved out towards the white wine, she inquired, “Why do you pour it like that?”

“Again portioning,” the warlock illuminated, pouring the white wine the exact same way he did with the brandy, “but also to prevent messes and to direct the stream better.” When he was done with that, he licked off the drops of alcohol on his thumb and added, “When you use alcohol for cooking, never settle for cheap. It will affect the taste. If you want the best chicken chasseur, get the best brandy and white wine. Makes a world of difference.” Aaron then turned around, taking the cutting board and small knife with him, and returned to the island. “Time for the mushrooms and tomatoes. Just like I did with the shallots, the mushrooms will be sliced thin, but the tomatoes will be diced.” he explained. He then took the mushrooms and began slicing, taking a thin slice off the top, turning them over, and slicing them one by one. “I like using button mushrooms for this because of their size and how easy they are to come by, but I've seen variations that use other kinds like portobellos. If you you want to use portobellos, dice instead.” he mused as he made quick work of the mushrooms. After he was done with them, he pushed them off to the opposite side of the cutting board and took the the tomatoes. “Give the chicken a quick flip for me?” he asked.

 _Wonder who's really doing the work and cooking here, him or me._ Though she thought that, the witch really didn't mind for it was a proper education in how to cook. Perrine went over to the stove, picked up the tongs and flipped the chicken. As she did so, she noticed that the white wine and the brandy had mixed with the juices of the chicken and shallots and was beginning to get thicker. “Aaron? Is the liquid in here supposed to be thick?” she inquired with a worried tone, raising her voice a bit to overcome the machine gun sounding impacts of knife on cutting board.

“Absolutely.” Aaron replied, done with the tomatoes now. He then placed the cups of chicken stock and tomato juice on the board and carried it over the stove like a waiter. “Reducing the alcohol creates a concentrate where all the flavors of the chicken, shallots, and the sugars in the brandy and white wine all coalesce into a glaze.” he explained as he sat it down. With a small flourish, he slid the mushrooms and tomatoes into the center of the pan with the knife. “Now, pour in the stock along the edges like I taught you and I'll follow up with the tomato juice.” Clostermann took up the cup of chicken stock and poured carefully along the edges, circling around the pan like a vulture does a dying animal. Not even a split second after she emptied her cup, Divale swooped right in, the contents starting to fill up to about a half inch away from the brim of the pan. “We're going to let that sit for a bit longer until the stock and tomato juice come to a low boil. When that happens, that reduction we just made will mix with the stock and tomato juice. Adding those mushrooms will naturally thicken it up.” he stated. He then turned back to the island and took the fresh tarragon in his hands. With the knife, the warlock turned master chef poked each leaf three times, put it in the pan, and pressed them in with the tip of the knife blade.

Perrine saw him do that and pointed out, “To speed up the flavoring process.”

Aaron regarded his friend with admiration and conjectured, “Why am I thinking that you're very good at catching on?”

Clostermann shrugged as she went to the other side of the kitchen to get some plates, cloth napkins, and silverware. “When you have a good teacher, anyone can learn what I just did.” she replied. She paused and added after a bit of thought, “Now that I think about it, Lynette might have been right about your from the very beginning. You remember the coven back at Dover when she said you'd make a good teacher?”

“I remember something to that effect.” Divale admitted, giving everything a quick stir with the tongs. “And I also recall saying that I'd rather be a farmer.”

“Well, maybe you should give it some more thought when this war is over.” the witch suggested, resuming her search. “I've been thinking about making a school here near the chateau to teach young adults. You could teach whatever you want. Cooking, history, philosophy, ethics, anything that your heart desires.” The warlock said nothing and just stared into the pan, watching the sauce thicken and come to a low boil, his focus so intense that he didn't even hear the clinking of plates and silverware as they were found and placed on the island. _That sounds like a good dream doesn't it Aaron? Teaching young men and women something real, something that matters besides holding a gun in their hands?_ He suddenly felt a hand on his right arm and he looked up with a start. There by his side, gazing up at him, was Perrine. “You also talked about how you wished you could leave something behind, a legacy. By teaching the next generation, you can do just that. You can give them knowledge that they can pass on to their children. What could be better than that? Come on Aaron, you can do it. I know you can and you know you can. Please.” she stated with a pleading tone.

Aaron's shoulders sagged as his stance on the issue cracked and ultimately shattered. He sighed softly and answered. “Tell you what, if after North Africa I find myself without an assignment for an extended period of time, I'll give it a shot.” The witch's face brightened like the sun and jumped up in place, throwing her arms up in victory. “But I offer no guarantees that I'll be successful.” he hastily added, tempering her expectations.

“Oh quit being a worry wort. You'll do just fine.” Perrine countered. She looked over at the simmering pan and asked, “Is it done yet?”

“It most certainly is.” Divale said after giving it another stir. He grabbed a cloth, wrapping it around the handle of the pan, and lifted it up carefully with his right hand, using the left to take the tongs. As he turned to the island, he saw that Clostermann had arranged everything they needed, the porcelain plates and true silverware shining bright from the glare of the overhead lights. Aaron then used the tongs to dish out the chicken chasseur, giving the meat a gentle shake as to not make a mess. He served Perrine first, remembering to parcel out the vegetables, tarragon, and extra sauce. After doing the same for himself, the pan was empty, the portioning on point. Aaron then placed it in the wash basin near the sink, turned off the stove, and sat down with a look of triumph. “And there you have it. Chicken chasseur from start to finish in not even fifteen minutes. Enjoy.”

Not even a second after his rump hit the wood of the stool, Perrine snatched her fork and knife, stabbed the chicken, cut off a small piece, and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes bugged out in sheer joy and shock as all the flavors in the chicken chasseur seeped into her taste buds and into her mind, triggering a cascade of fond memories of her mother through the years. Slowly, she withdrew the fork from her mouth and chewed, the meat practically melting in her mouth. _Oh my God, this is just as good as my mother's. It's so good I don't want to swallow it. I want to enjoy it forever._ Eventually, Clostermann reluctantly forced it down and sighed with pleasure. “That is the best chicken chasseur I've had since my mother passed away.” she declared.

“I'm glad. Thank you.” Aaron replied, eating his. “And now you know the secrets.”

“And it also reinforces the fact that you're a good instructor.” the witch pointed out.

“And that you're a good listener.” Divale politely retorted. The two then ate their dinner in relative silence, the occasional sounds of silverware on porcelain ringing around the kitchen. Interestingly enough, though bread and drink would be served with the meal, there was no need and neither side asked for it. They took their time, enjoying the food. When they were done, both took care of their plates and started to was the dishes. The warlock took care of that while Perrine cleaned the top of the stove, put the white wine and brandy away, and dried the dishes as fast as they were cleaned. “Last but certainly not least, always clean as you go if you're doing multiple things at once.” he explained. “I know it should go without saying, but I've seen people leave things out for such a long time that whatever was left on the dishes hardened and it made it that much harder to clean up afterwards. Learned that lesson the hard way.”

“How, if you don't mind me asking?” Perrine asked.

“I made fruit cake for Lucille and Leclerc before I left in early December last year. All three of us ate the whole thing and went to bed. Woke up the next morning, ready to go over to Pont Du Hoc for the rendezvous, and I remembered that I didn't wash the baking pan. Bear in mind, that December was cold and the Resistance didn't have good heating anywhere in Lille outside of burning barrels. The caramel had become as solid as a rock and even with my claws, it took a good five minutes just to get half of it off. After I got done hacking, chiseling, and washing, I vowed to never ever leave dirty dishes alone after the meal.” Divale answered, wiping the last fork in the wash basin clean and handing it off.

“Must have cut it pretty close I'd imagine.” Clostermann mused, taking the utensil and drying it with a cloth rag.

“I had ways to get there quick.” the warlock replied swishing his hands around the sudsy water, double checking to make sure that he got everything. When he found nothing else he tipped it over and poured the water down the drain. “With my memory, I knew exactly where to go. Kind of wished that I had the stars to guide me back then. Due to the presence of the Neuroi, the clouds hardly ever cleared up for more than a second. Really missed looking at them.” he added, cleaning and rinsing out the wash basin.

“Well tonight,” the witch stated after placing the rag over a drying rack, “since you treated me, I'm going to treat you. Come up to the balcony with me.” Aaron needed no further prompting and sat the wash basin upside down in the sink, placing it at an angle so that it would dry evenly. He followed her through the adjacent dining room, through the main hall, up the stairs, and into the study proper. Perrine opened the doors that led out to the balcony and walked on through, the rush of the warm summer night air making her long braided hair sway. Aaron followed her past the threshold and into the night. His eyes adjusted, taking in the chateau's surroundings. Off in the distance, he could see some sort of light shining through some of the windows of the hospital and orphanage, the flickering oranges and yellows casting dancing colors for as far as they could go across the ground. Beyond them were the fields and trees, the grasses and leaves gently swaying with the winds. Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by beautiful serenity. However, far far above his head was the most beautiful sight of all. Twinkling like infinitesimally small diamonds in the cloudless sky were the stars, a cosmic tapestry of light. Though their radiance was nothing compared to the half moon, the patterns that Divale learned so long ago to help guide his men on the battlefield somehow shone brighter in his eyes. He put his hands on his hips and simply stared at them wordlessly, his feet taking him from one side of the balcony to the other. “What do you think?” Perrine suddenly asked, temporarily breaking his stargazing.

“I think I can stand here and watch the stars go by forever.” Aaron replied, looking back down at her. “What about you? What do you think?”

Clostermann put her hands behind her back and started to absentmindedly kick her right leg out back and forth. “Well, now that you mention it,” she stated, “I think I want to dance with you.”

Divale tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow. “And why would you want to?” he inquired, genuinely curious.

“Back at Folkestone, we all decided that we'd all cut loose and ask if you wanted to dance. We never got the chance though. So, I was wondering if you could now?” Perrine explained.

The warlock looked squarely at the witch, peering into her eyes, and slowly began to smile. Nodding, he answered, “It would be my pleasure to have this dance.” He extended his right hand, palm facing upwards. Perrine reached out with her right hand and placed it within his, the size difference making it look more like a parent holding the hand of a small child. “Be warned though,” Aaron cautioned as he curled his fingers around the top of her hand, “I go fast.”

“You really think a woman as refined as me and knowing how to dance since I was eight can't keep up?” Perrine boldly queried, daring him to say otherwise.

 _You asked for it._ Divale wisely said nothing, holding her right arm up and placing his left around her back above the waist in a level position. As for her, Clostermann had her left arm on his back at an upwards angle, but could only reach to the middle section of his shoulder blade. “At the one two.” he forewarned. “In three, two, one, dance.” The pair moved together as one, the speed of the tempo not affecting them one bit. Had the stars been able to see what was transpiring on the balcony of the chateau, they would've been party to a dazzlingly display of dancing, a whirling tempest of spins, dips, slides, and pirouettes. In the midst of the chaos, the eye of this storm was calm, the two smiling and laughing. Regardless of the conflict they found themselves fighting in, at that moment in time, none of it mattered. “You move very well.” Aaron remarked, thoroughly impressed as he dipped her. “Guess you weren't kidding.”

“Same to you too.” Perrine replied as he rose her back up from the dip and into a spin. “God I wished you didn't up and leave the way you did. You would've been the life of the party.” she commented as she started to slide at an angle away from him.

“What did happen at that farewell party anyway?” the warlock asked, complementing her movements in the opposite direction.

“Oh we had a ball.” the witch recollected as she took him in her arms again. “There was so much food and alcohol that there was no way we could've run out. Shirley got sloshed and tried to get Lucchini the same way, but she stuck to her wine and nursed it the whole night. Erica and Gertrude went for the beer and everything was fine between them at the start, but one of them said something that the other didn't like and and they started arguing like a married couple. Both Eila and Sanya sat mostly alone with each other and drank vodka, having a conversation between themselves. Have no idea what they said and still don't. Yoshika got introduced to English cuisine courtesy of Lynette, but I think she got turned off by the black pudding. Turned out to be a blessing in disguise because she was the one that suggested making that gift of love locks later on. Meanwhile, Minna and Sailor made sure that things didn't get too out of hand and drank responsibly for the most part. I sat with Mio and Keisuke, just eating, drinking, and talking.”

“What did you all talk about?” Aaron inquired, twirling in place with her.

“It started with the major and I saying that despite you leaving, another had returned, and we both wanted to know the particulars of it. You should've seen Sakamoto's face as he talked about how you did it from start to finish. She was in absolute rapture as Hijikata told us what happened, about how you came to him after the major left the first day and asked him if he wanted to walk again. He admitted that he was scared, but he told us that you convinced him by saying that Mio was a totally different person with him gone, that she felt lost and abandoned. That changed his mind. Then we talked about you and how you had changed given everything that happened to you and us. We were all worried about you and how you'd fare. Keisuke assured us that you'd be fine, that you'd find your way back to the man you once were eventually. All you needed was love, support, and time.” Perrine answered, sliding her hands away.

When that happened, the dance ended between the witch and the warlock, their hands slipping away from each other, their eyes full of life and happiness. Divale sighed, displeased that the fun was all over, but still managed a smile as he thought about those words that Hijikata said on his behalf in his absence. _I swear my friend, it's like you know the right thing to say to make people really thinking inwardly about themselves._ “He was right.” he simply stated, bowing politely.

Clostermann curtsied elegantly, but she wasn't smiling at all. Instead, her features made it seem that she was deep in thought. “Aaron? Can you promise me something?” she queried. Aaron nodded in silence and she continued. “If the 501st reforms, come back to us. We're not whole without you. All of us agree on that. Please come back.”

The warlock blinked once, twice, and looked away, think of how he could tell her the truth of the matter. _It's not my choice to make Perrine. Allied Command owns my ass and they're the ones that decide where I go. Don't do it to her Aaron. Don't raise her hopes up just to dash them to pieces later on. But you can't eliminate the possibility of it happening. Best to leave it open ended._ He regarded Perrine, his past wingman and present friend and held out his right hand, palm open. “Just like I told Shirley and Lucchini when I saw them: If you say your prayers just right and the powers that be hear them, I’ll be there in heartbeat.” he promised. 

The witch took his hand and the two shook, but no sooner did they do so that Aaron's communicator that had been dormant for many days crackled to life. “Lieutenant Divale, this is Lieutenant Marseilles, do you read me? Over.” his superior a continent away radioed.

“Loud and clear lieutenant. Orders to return? Over.” Divale relayed back.

“Affirmative lieutenant. You're ordered to make your way to Annaba and await further orders. Marseilles out.” Hanna instructed.

The warlock killed the link and made a move to go into the study to collect his things, but his progress was hindered. Puzzled, he turned and saw that he hadn't let go of Perrine's hand and she still had a firm grasp on his. He could see that she didn't want him to leave, but she accepted it with grace and let go slowly. Aaron shrugged his shoulders and said, “I've got to go back. Thanks for the dance and everything else today. Let's do this again sometime okay?”

“Before you go, I have one last thing to give you.” Perrine pointed out. She then moved past him and entered her study where from that angle, he could see her rummaging through her roll top desk. After a few seconds, Divale saw her close the roll top and turn to face him. When she did, his eyes widened in disbelief as he saw in her right hand a very familiar green felt jewelers box. He started to move backwards, physically unable to be near the thing. Clostermann saw this happening and stopped dead in her tracks, silently rethinking her decision. She then violently shook her head from side to side.  _No. I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble if I thought for a second that I didn't have the strength to go through with it._ “Aaron,” she stated, holding the small box out with her right hand, “I know you know what this is and what it means to you, but please come here.” The warlock's mouth was dry as the North African deserts he was soon going to go back to and chills went up and down his tall spine, the sensation giving him the jitters. His eyes darted to the green felt box, up to the witch, and back down to the box again.  _Why does she have that? Why is she showing that to me again?_ Normally, he would've asked that question directly, but his shock prevented any words escaping his mouth. It took a long few seconds for him to regain his composure and take tentative steps towards Perrine who gazed up at him with a look that was a mixture of pleading and sadness. Aaron closed the distance and with a shaking right hand, took the box and opened it. Inside, the moonlight accentuating the features, was what would've been Lucretia's wedding ring. The gold band and the gilded hearts still shined bright like the day he bought it, but only one of the gemstones, the yellow diamond, remained. “I'm sorry that they couldn't find the emerald. Even I scoured the place.” she added ruefully.

Aaron took the ring in his left hand and held it with his thumb and index finger, letting the box drop to the balcony floor. Memories of that terrible day in Dover came roaring back and he couldn't stop the tears from falling. “W-Why did you w-want to find this? W-Why are you giving t-this to m-me?” he stammered.

“When I got Amelie's letter, I figured that a medal wouldn't be enough to lift your spirits. So I got on the line with General Eisenhower asking him if he would send the ring over to me. It was a very odd request and it took quite a bit of convincing on my part, but he allowed it.” Perrine explained.

“That explains how it got here, but it doesn't answer why it's here.” Divale countered.

“Do you remember what we did together after you and Lynette got back from your grand day out?” Clostermann asked. “You told me about how to get rid of painful things by imagining them as stones and throwing them into that creek. This might not be a rock, but I felt that if you could cast it, that painful memory away, that it might help you get over her death.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The enemy launches a desperate gamble to snatch victory from the claws of defeat as they lure the 31st into an ambush at El Kala.

_ **Chapter XXIX: Die By The Blade** _

_No conflict is as bitter as one fought between friends._

Diary Entry July 17 th  1944

Matilda sat by the fire, sharpening her assagai in the dark, the grinding of metal on rock strangely soothing and welcome compared to the tit for tat artillery duel going on many miles to the west. Low booms and the fiery explosions from the impacts and discharges lit all up and down the front lines between the two forces, a line that soon would be pushed all the way to the Tunisian border within the next few days. Across from her lay Mami, her tiny bedroll nestled form curled up next to the fire like a cat, still sleeping despite the din around her. Many others were here too, huddled in tents doing their best to snooze while some were out on patrol as to provide security or to calm some pre battle nerves. It was pointless to stand guard for the enemy had already settled down until they gathered more men and materiel for the final push, but deep down, Matilda couldn't blame them for their behavior. _Better to do something worthwhile with what time you've got than sit there and wait for death._

Ever since the fall of Tangiers and Oran, they had been engaging in fighting retreats for the past eight days. Algiers, Skikda, and Annaba all fell during that time. The loss of Annaba hurt the most for it was the industrial center of Algeria, producing key Striker components and munitions. With that gone, there was very little in the way of obtaining repair equipment and ammunition save for night raids on enemy held supply depots. While many were successful, the loss of life continued to bleed them white. As of last count, Mami's squadrons were down to a quarter of what they once were. Reinforcements had come in, but they were far from the pilots she once had. In terms of the land witches, they were all but destroyed. Upon thinking that last part, Matilda abruptly stopped sharpening the blade of the spear and closed her eyes. Though in darkness of her own choosing, her mind painted a picture of Patricia, the last of her faithful hounds to fall. _I hope you died well Patricia. You deserved that much._

The witch put her whetstone back into her pocket and got up from the desert sand, wiping the stray grains from her rump. Planting the base of the assagai into the ground like a walking stick, she walked out over the small dune they were camped behind and looked out over the horizon. Just over the crest was a vast strip of green, illuminated by the muzzle flashes of the still firing batteries, was a rare swathe of green. While mostly desert, there were strips of land that handled the climate in a different way, nearby oases generating life from their deep water reserves. It was breathtaking, feeling almost like a paradise. _An Eden in Hell. Poetic._ Suddenly, she heard the sounds of footsteps coming up from behind her. On instinct, Matilda flipped the spear around, turned, and pointed it directly at where she heard the intruder. Despite being some distance away from the fire, she saw that it was Inagaki, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her right hand. Relaxing, she turned her attention back to the distant duel as Mami got up next to her. “Are we doing anything worthwhile to them?” the Japanese witch asked.

“Maybe.” Matilda replied. “Lack of sleep equals less chance of a vigorous effort.”

Inagaki nodded, doing her best to see some sort of silver lining. “It's still strange waking up with just you around.” she muttered sadly, shaking her head from side to side.

The right hand of the mistress regarded her friend with empathy. News of Patricia's death hit everyone hard, but Mami took it the worst. After getting back to Tunis for a few days worth of rest, she drank up a storm. Matilda did her best to get her to slow down or deal with her grief some other constructive way, but Inagaki wouldn't hear it. _She said to have a drink for me and by God, I'm going to do it!_ “Yes it is.” Matilda agreed. “I miss her too. I miss all of them. Furuko, Abigail, Marilyn, Katou, all good friends now long gone.”

“And sooner or later we're going to join that list.” Mami added grimly.

“Not before we make them pay for what they have done to us all.” Matilda emphatically declared.

The Japanese witch opened her mouth to say something else, but her head cocked to one side as a message came in over her communicator. After a few seconds of silence, the tension on her face began to increase, the dark brown eyes widening with a combination of fear and shock. “Message from the mistress. She wants to talk with both of us right now.” she murmured.

“Patch me through.” Matilda commanded. Mami did as she was told and the loyal guardian pressed the sending stud on her ear comms. “We are listening my mistress. What is your command?”

“Matilda... Inagaki... The time for my plan to bear fruit has arrived. What you are about to hear is the last command I will ever issue to you both. We're withdrawing the main defenses around El Kala further inside Tunisia at the conclusion of this message.” the mistress radioed softly and carefully.

“Understood my mistress.” Mami relayed back. “We'll do-”

“No such thing.” the mistress curtly responded, cutting off the Japanese witch's train of thought. “All remaining witch units are to stand their ground and prepare an ambush for the 31 st  that will no doubt be sent in to investigate.”

Inagaki's eyes nearly popped out of her head and her hands started to tremble. Her mouth opened and shut several times, the sheer shock of what they were being ordered to do silencing any dissent. Matilda immediately took charge and asked, “For what purpose would that serve my mistress? Most of the pilots we have left are second rate. Far from a match against such opponents.”

“Individually they are weak, but in numbers such as those you have, it will be more than enough. The 31 st  is a hybrid unit with both land and air elements. Their commander may be ambitious, but at this stage of the proceedings, she'll be cautious and not send in the ground forces at her disposal.” the mistress clarified.

 _I see now. The makeup of the 31_ _st_ _has it's strengths, but it's also it's greatest weakness. An unforeseen withdrawal that leaves a gap in our lines will look suspicious even to a blind man. A quick in and out is essential to prevent possible ambushes. Going in with the entire squadron would be counterproductive to that strategy. So that means we'll have to deal with four witches and one warlock. Speaking of which..._ “What about the warlock my mistress? What is to be done with him?” Inagaki inquired, finding her voice again.

“He's to be distracted while you two find a way to capture one of the witches. Use the vials to your advantage. Be creative and stall for time, but know this: You must lure the warlock over to Tunis or else we've thrown away all chance at ultimate victory. Is that understood?” the mistress queried in a serious tone towards the end.

Mami regarded Matilda with a blank stare, keeping her true emotions hidden. Matilda looked back at her and sighed softly, knowing full well what tomorrow will bring. “We understand my mistress. We will succeed. Ultimate victory will be ours.” she replied resolutely.

“I know you will. It has been foreseen. Goodbye my faithful soldiers.” the mistress concluded.

The link died soon after and the two witches simply stood there in the dark. Inagaki collapsed to the ground, the impact of her knees scattering sand in all directions. She looked up at the heavens, tears welling up in her eyes, and uttered, “Guess this is it huh Matilda?”

Matilda got on a knee and brought her remaining friend in the whole world closer to her, giving her a side hug of solidarity. Silence reigned, the thunder of the guns no more as the order to withdraw came over the comms. “It's not over until it's over.” she countered.

“I know that!” Mami blurted, wiping the tears from her face. “But how in the hell are we going to do this?! This is suicide! Not even a one in a million shot!”

“I already have a plan in mind.” Matilda calmly answered, letting go of the angry witch and standing up. “Now let's go. Dawn is fast approaching and we need to inform the rest of the ladies.”

*****************

Five thousand feet up in the air, cruising towards Annaba in the wee minutes before dawn, Aaron panned his head in all directions, constantly on the lookout for anything out of place. Though he was confident that nothing untoward could occur considering where he was going, he still kept his guard up. T _he most dangerous time during a war is towards the end. You get soft and complacent. You let your guard down thinking that you're safe, but you're still in the war and death can come at you in an instant._ He absentmindedly turned his head around, looking at the last vestiges of France slowly disappear as the distance increased between them. Divale's mind went back to the time he shared with Perrine and he smiled. “You did pretty good today you bastard didn't you? Really made her feel better. Hopefully we'll get the chance to do that again.” he muttered to himself. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out, his ears ringing with the last word of that sentence. Before he knew it, the warlock reached in his front breast pocket and pulled out the ruined ring with his right hand. The darkness was slowly in the process of fading with the fast approaching sunrise, illuminating the features that he knew so well. He rolled it between his fingers, rubbing the yellow diamond with his thumb, feeling every facet on the gem. With his index finger, he ran it along the edge of the heart shaped insert, the digit moving slowly as if longing to feel the touch of the lost emerald.

 _It's probably for the best Aaron. If the emerald was still there, it would only make looking at it that much worse._ That was when a moment of revelation transpired deep within his soul, making him stop dead in his tracks, the sudden maneuver jarring to the senses. His right hand closed around the piece of jewelry and he took stock of where he was. Behind him, the continent was not to be seen, its features shrouded by distance and weather conditions. Nearly a mile below him, the Mediterranean Sea rolled along as it had been since time immemorial, the waves so gentle that even his eyesight couldn't pick up a single whitecap. Finally, off in front of him, probably no more than three miles away was North Africa where his comrades waited for him to return. A strange sense of calm settled in every fiber of Divale's being, his breathing slow. Closing his eyes and bringing his right hand to his mouth, the knuckles pressed against his chin, the warlock began to pray. “Hey God. It's me Aaron. I apologize for not being so talkative lately. A few things happened that took up my time and energy but, I'm better now and I was wondering if you could lend me an ear because I really need your help right now. You see, I've been changing as a man and human being and these changes haven't been the easiest for me. Thankfully, I have good friends who help show me the way forward and I've so far had the strength to carry on. However, one person that meant a great deal to me can't do so. Her name was Lucretia Domino and she was the love of my life. Wherever she is in your blessed kingdom on high, please let her see me here and now to bear witness to what I'm about to do.”

As if his prayers were answered, the sun rose off to the east, bathing the world in orange, yellow, and red light. He felt the warmth of the coming morning on his face. It was welcoming and Aaron opened his eyes, silent tears of happiness falling down his cheeks. “Lucretia, my dear Lucretia, hear and see me. Not too long ago, you made me promise that I would never let my heart turn to stone, that I would not revert back into the man you once knew. I wish I could say that I told the truth then. In what should've been a moment of steadfast devotion, in my weakness and grief, I turned it into a cowardly act of deceit. Forgive me Lucretia for my lie, forgive me for my inability to maintain what you left behind. When I left England, I assumed that I left you too. While true, it turned out that you never left me. Somehow, someway, your spirit endured and influenced a dear friend that I lost recently to summon the courage needed to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. She... no... you helped bring me back from the brink of self destruction. You reminded me that there was a good man underneath it all. Thank you Lucretia. I will keep that promise I made to you as you died on the hanger dais.” Divale then held his right hand outwards and vowed, “As you and God as my witnesses, never again will I let my past hold me back. I will live on as a new man, as Aaron Divale. This I swear.” Then in flash of movement, he opened his hand and the ring fell from his fingertips, falling like a silver star. He watched as the symbol of his undying love shrank and shrank as it descended until it vanished far far from sight and into the waves of the sea below.

***************

Raisa rubbed her eyes as the morning sun rose over the horizon, the light making them wince. Once she got the strain to a point where it was mostly manageable, she took a quick look at her watch. It read 0700 and the witch merely shrugged. _Last time I checked, Hanna messaged Aaron to come back at around 2000. Strange that he hasn't gotten back yet. The rest of the squadron is already here._ Submerging those thoughts for now, Pottgen placed the binoculars back to her face and looked through the lenses. Shifting her position ever so slightly caused the metal roof of the makeshift crows nest atop the mostly intact hanger they commandeered after the Allied forces took Annaba to creak. It was worrisome, but the engineers said that it would hold weight. _Of course the bastards didn't say how much so Marseilles gave me the responsibility._ Gazing out over the city and off towards the sea, her peripheral caught glimpses of the ruins.

According to what they'd been told when they got back, the Allied troops rolled in not too long ago and they encountered fierce resistance. Despite being outnumbered and outgunned, the native industry of Annaba made supply issues redundant, giving them an edge that the Allies didn't. The battle was protracted and bitter. Thousands died. The three generals wished to keep the industrial infrastructure intact for themselves to exploit, but given the steadily rising casualties and the fact that the enemy was taking shelter within it, they reluctantly came to the conclusion that any advantage they stood to gain had to be dealt with. Orders went out and the nature of the battle changed dramatically. Witches and aircraft dropped tons of bombs all over the city, leveling it block by block and long range artillery bombarded anything that remotely looked like it could be used as a manufacturing facility, down to the outhouses. Once the enemy saw what was going on, they immediately started to withdraw, fighting like demons all the way. Pursuit was hampered by booby traps and mines, both antitank and antipersonnel, in whatever building and street corner remained. Even the hanger the 31st found themselves calling home for now was no exception. The underground aetheric fuel stores, even as bare as they were to begin with, were set to go off if anyone came inside. Thankfully, Amelie did a fantastic job at disarming it as well as combing the place with the precision of a fine toothed comb in case there were any more of them. _It's nice having an engineer worth their salt in the squadron. If she wasn't around, we would've been blown sky high._

Suddenly, a shape began to shift this way and that as her eyes adjusted to the distance. Squinting, Raisa could make out the distinctive silver wings wings of Aaron Divale, and her heart leapt for joy. Quickly, she thumbed the frequency on her communicator and pressed the sending stud. “Lieutenant Divale, do you read me? This is Pilot Officer Pottgen. Over?” she radioed.

The reply was swift. “I read you loud and clear Raisa. Whereabouts are you all at? Over.”

“Proceed to grid reference E7 lieutenant. It's a rough looking hanger surrounded by three jeeps. I'm currently waving on the roof. Over.” Pottgen relayed, waving her right hand up in the air.

A few seconds went by and the witch could see the figure rapidly approach, arcing towards the right and beginning to descend. “I see you Rai. ETA thirty seconds. Divale out.” Aaron answered. The link died and Pottgen stowed away her binoculars and started to go down the steel ladder that led into the hanger proper. Down below her, the rest of the squadron was in the midst of having ersatz coffee and whatever breakfast they could get their hands on, scattered around on the floor or sitting in charred semi broken chairs they managed to pull out of the ruins that were given the all clear the previous day. Utensils and cups clanked and clattered as they ate with bits of small table talk going around as well. The main hanger door was wide open, bathing the interior with sunlight. It wasn't the most welcome of guests, but it beat waking up to the cold concrete floor underneath you.

Marseilles took up a spoon and started to eat out of an MRE bag when she noticed her friend coming down the ladder. She stood up and anxiously asked, “Is he here?”

“Coming in hot lieutenant. Fifteen seconds.” Raisa replied with a smile, her feet finding purchase on the floor. Immediately after she said that, the sounds of dining stopped and all heads turned towards the hanger doors. At first, nothing seemed to indicate that the warlock was returning anytime soon. However, a long shadow could be discerned, the shape elongated and distorted with distance. It closed in quickly, the movements hard to track before it suddenly halted. By minute degrees, a pair of booted feet appeared far above the open portal followed by the legs, then the torso, and finally the head of one Aaron Divale, uniform clean and immaculate and his wings gently tucking back like a perched bird.

Once he made earthfall, Divale took a gander at his immediate lodging and simply shook his head in wonder. The hanger, or at least what passed as such, was in horrible shape to the point where he actually wondered if the thing was even used at all. Holes the size of half dollars pockmarked the walls, rimmed with a good inch worth of rust, casting long lines of light throughout the inside. The concrete floor was cracked, a few of the fissures wide enough to trip over if one wasn't careful. The commander's office had a one window that was broken and the door leading into it was hanging off one hinge, the frame bent in from some sort of hard impact. There was nothing in the way of repair or maintenance save for a couple of boxes stacked neatly on the far right wall. Instead of individual tents, a large tarp was hung up on a pair of chains from the ceiling with the bedrolls of each squadron member placed under it. A ladder took up an odd place in the center of the room just askew of the gathering, the rungs leading up to the crows nest on the roof. _What a dump. It's so bad, not even college kids would bunk up here. Least there's some semblance of a roof and four walls. That's something._ He placed his hands on his hips, took an over exaggerated look around, and proclaimed, “If I didn't know I was reporting back to a fighter squadron, I'd have thought I was looking at a bunch of hobo homewreckers.”

The entire hanger erupted into peals of laughter. Aaron had a few chuckles of his own and walked on inside, hefting his travel bag with a slight 'oof'. Marseilles was the first one to walk up to him, extending her right hand. “Glad to have you back Lieutenant Divale.” she stated with sincerity. “However, you seem to be a bit late. What kept you?”

“Begging your humble pardons lieutenant, but it's awfully hard to find a city that doesn't exist anymore.” Aaron politely countered while he took his superior's hand and shook it firmly.

“Fair enough.” Hanna admitted, letting her grip go. “Come on in. We're having some breakfast. There isn't much, but there should be some left for you.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Elizabeth remarked playfully, spooning another morsel in her mouth.

“Let me guess,” Divale conjectured with a sly wink as he walked towards his friends with the lieutenant, “you ate all the sausage didn't you?”

Beurling cocked an eyebrow and replied, “Now that you're here, I wouldn't mind a second helping.” A chorus of ooohs circled the near empty hanger as people started to catch her meaning.

“Nice to see you haven't changed.” the warlock quipped as he sat down on the floor next to Amelie and Raisa. He looked at what they were eating and he quickly realized that Marseilles wasn't kidding. There were six platters scattered about the floor, but only two had food on them, bacon and sausage patties to be specific, and one large near empty pot of oatmeal that looked to be on the cusp of hardening into a sticky glop. Regardless of the situation, Aaron didn't complain in the least and added more water to the oatmeal with his canteen. After he gave it a quick swish around, he scraped some bacon and sausage into the pot and began to eat.

It was at that point that Amelie's eyes fell upon the two medals pinned to his chest and she audibly gasped. “That's a Croix de Guerre Aaron. Where did you get that?”

“And a DSO.” Edmund remarked from across the way. After looking it over he uttered a low whistle and added, “And a double to boot.”

“Got them both in France when I visited some old friends.” Aaron answered, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “And you want to know what that damnedest thing about it is? I have no problem in wearing them. I don't feel self conscious anymore about being recognized for what I've done.”

“Good to hear.” Helga commented, leaning in with her cup of coffee.

“So what else did you do besides get awards on that vacation?” Rudel asked, taking a few gulps of milk.

Divale popped a globule of bacon infused oatmeal into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and began to tell the tale. “Well, I didn't want to go east to Japan so I went west and made two stops in America, New York City and Honolulu before I got over to Yokohama.”

“What's New York City like?” Audie inquired. “Never been there.”

“Huge.” Aaron answered. “Buildings taller than any I've seen in Europe. Absolutely teeming with people. Also, when they say that New York City is a city that never sleeps, they meant it. No matter the hour or day. Just insane. And Honolulu was breathtaking. All those islands and the ocean breeze in your face melted away all the stress.” He motioned with his left hand at Helga and Audie and added, “You two should visit them sometime. Provided that you too can keep your hands off each other long enough to see the sights.”

“That's up to her. She's the boss.” Murphy wisely countered.

Von Krieger gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and muttered, “Damn right I am.” She then regarded the warlock who was furiously scraping the last bits of oatmeal from the pot and stated, “So what happened when you got to Japan?”

“I wanted to see Major Sakamoto first at the flight school there, but it turned out that she had resigned and wasn't around. Thankfully, one of the trainees knew where I could find Sergeant Miyafuji and pointed me in the right direction. Met her whole family at the clinic her family runs and learned that the major and her right hand man were coming over for dinner that night. So I stayed and had a great time.” Aaron further explained. He then pulled the katana from it's scabbard with his free hand and added, “The major gave me her old sword as a token of her appreciation.”

Elizabeth's eyes bulged upon seeing the fine craftsmanship and nodded in approval. “Very fine blade.” she stated sincerely.

“I can also channel my magic through it too so that's going to come in real handy when we get to Tunis.” Divale mentioned further before sheathing the katana. “After that, I flew over the entirety of Siberia to see your sister Aurora.”

“And by proxy, Sanya.” Aurora pointed out. “The two have been inseparable for years now. Where did you find them if you don't mind me asking?”

“Right at Sanya's parent's house in Salekhard. Both of them are currently with the 507th, shoring up recent departures.” the warlock answered, giving a slight gesture towards Elizabeth. “It was a pretty decent day out with the whole bunch of them. Took them all to a restaurant after I helped them out with some pesky bugs. Kind of wished I could've stayed longer, but they had to depart for Vorkuta the next morning. I then kind of curved over the Arctic Circle and made a beeline for St Omer where I knew my ex CO Minna was and I found her having lunch outside of an inn with Erica and Gertrude.”

Marseilles's face instantly soured from across the way and Aaron began mentally kicking himself for mentioning it. “Not surprised she's with my rival and her.” she muttered, placing special emphasis on the word 'her'.

Divale looked over in the lieutenant's direction and narrowed his eyes. “That her is my friend Hanna, and with respect, I believe it is written that one should love thy neighbor.” he stated in a measured tone.

“I never agreed to those rules.” Marseilles countered.

The warlock sucked in his teeth and decided to leave well enough alone. “Anyways, they had to go back to Ypres and I moved on over to-” he started to elaborate, but was unexpectedly interrupted by Amelie.

“You saw Perrine.” she simply piped up, drawing more than a few odd stares. Realizing that she became the center of attention, Planchard hastily added, “She told me all about your visit. It was so cute you guys. They went out to eat in Lille, did some shopping, he taught her how to cook chicken chasseur, and they danced the bal musette on the balcony of her chateau in Agincourt under the stars.”

“Oh boy Aaron.” Beurling observed with a devious smile. “Sounds like it was more like a date than a visit to me.”

 _Oh you just didn't._ “Listen people,” Aaron began, putting his hands up for quiet as he sought to defend himself and Perrine's honor, “it was not a date. She was swamped in work and I decided that it would do her some good to get out of the chateau for a while and unwind from all the stress she's been heaping on herself.”

“There's more than one way to relieve a woman's stress.” Rudel remarked, shocking Elizabeth to the point where she put her hands up to her face just to hide it.

“Not in a million years.” Divale proclaimed.

“You know Aaron,” Edmund stated, adjusting his sitting position, “That's how me and Wilma started out too and look where we are.”

“And why not Clostermann?” Wilma inquired.

“Yeah.” Amelie breathed out, leveling her gaze at Divale and placing her hands on her hips. “What's wrong with my friend?”

“First off, our friend. Secondly, nothing at all is wrong with her. Last, but not least, she's my friend. It would be weird and we're both enlisted.” the warlock continued to press.

“Oh you know that rule is bullshit.” Helga insisted.

“Not to Commander Minna Dietlinde Wilcke it isn't. I guarantee it.” Aaron replied. He quickly looked over to Marseilles and held out his right hand. “Can you help me out here Hanna?” he asked, his voice borderline pleading with his superior. The lieutenant opened her mouth to say something when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a long shadow being cast on the concrete. Following the mysterious shade, the trail led to the front of the open hanger where, standing at attention, was Edytha Neumann. The air commander held a bound folder and her glasses emitted a harsh glare from the sun behind her.

“Good morning everyone.” Edytha stated loudly, her voice ringing throughout the near empty hanger. The conversation died immediately and the squadron as a whole scrambled to their feet, dusted themselves up, and stood ramrod straight. The hustle and bustle made her chuckle and she added, “Relax people. If I really wanted to make an entrance, I would've rolled on in with Rommel on a tank.”

The words managed to assuage the unease and shoulders relaxed. “Is it wrong that a part of me would've loved to see that?” Marseilles asked with a sly smile.

Neumann politely ignored the comment and instead walked over to each of them, shaking their hands and saying a few words, most of which were in a low enough voice so that no one would eavesdrop. When she got to Aaron, the medals grabbed her attention. “Since when did you wear those?” she inquired.

“When I realized that I am a hero.” Divale replied.

The witch clapped him on the right shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “About damn time.” she said proudly. She let her grip go as she walked past and motioned for everyone to follow her to the far right wall where all the boxes were stacked. “Hopefully ladies and gentlemen that your little holiday hasn't dulled the edge you've built up, because we're going to really need it.” she quipped as got to a random box and began to open the folder. The 31st gathered around and watched as Edytha pulled out a series of reports. “Alright. Listen up. As all of you were aware, forward elements have been harassing enemy positions near the El Kala since last night with heavy artillery fire, softening them up for our eventually attack that was scheduled for 1200 today. However, that attack has been postponed.” she reported.

Marseilles' face grew tense as the news hit her like a sledgehammer. _Postponed the attack?! Our attack?!_ “Any reason why that would be?” she queried, doing her best to hide her annoyance.

“Around two hours before dawn, counter battery fire from the opposing side suddenly stopped. Recon fights were dispatched in the vicinity of El Kala where these photos were taken.” Neumann continued, moving the reports to the side and revealing two black and white photographs, detailing a cratered mess with destroyed artillery, spent shell casings, and long winding tracks leading east.

“Looks like they all buggered off right quick.” Edmund observed.

“I wouldn't count on it.” Raisa countered. She looked up at Marseilles and added, “Smells like an ambush lieutenant.”

Hanna took it in stride and asked, “I take it that General Montgomery wants us to go in and check it out before committing?”

“Correct.” Edytha confirmed. “Get a plan ready and take off. El Kala is roughly a full hour from here. Sweep that area clean and with any luck, the attack will commence as scheduled.” She paused and gave Marseilles a look. “Take your time with this lieutenant. Is that understood?”

 _Damn it!_ The subordinate nodded in reluctant agreement. “Loud and clear air commander.” she muttered. Job done, Neumann turned on her heels and left the throng wordlessly, knowing that nothing more needed to be said. As Hanna watched her leaved, Aaron looked down at the photographs, his eyes narrowed and right hand up to his chin in deep thought. Curious, she tapped him on the left shoulder and he gave her a sideways glance. “What are you thinking Lieutenant Divale?” she inquired.

Aaron looked back at the photographs and took a deep breath. “Makes no sense why they would withdraw from an advantageous position. They had the perfect firing angles and they could just move deeper into the green space, using the vegetation as natural camouflage. That and it doesn't look like they were hit all that hard. Look at how little damage was done.” he pointed out.

“See any mines or booby traps like the kind they got Deveraux with?” Marseilles asked.

“Nothing immediately evident in regards to the mines.” Divale replied. “There are no mine detonation craters anywhere in this particular vicinity. That, and if they were going to place a bomb of that nature underground, the bombardment would've set it off.”

Pottgen also took a gander at the photos, looking intently at the tracks. “This is very interesting.” she commented. “A standard 88mm gun crew numbers five or six men and that's not including the gun carrier driver and its crew. Some of the guns and carriers have been knocked out, but there are no bodies, not even a bloodstain.”

“No clean up I've ever seen in the field was that thorough.” the warlock acknowledged. “Especially one that leaves tracks of the vehicles, but not of the gun crews.”

“So this is most definitely an ambush we're walking into.” Marseilles surmised. _But where is it going to come from?_

“With that being said, what do we do?” Raisa queried.

“We can't go in full bells and whistles with this. I want that attack to start on time. We'll go up with just you, me, Divale, Beurling, and Rudel. Everyone else has got to sit this one out unfortunately.” Hanna declared.

A horrible thought ran through Aaron's mind and he suddenly blurted, “You mind if all three of us go somewhere private real quick?”

Both witches looked at him with puzzled expressions that slowly went away upon seeing that he was being deadly serious. “Lead on.” she stated, gesturing outside the hanger. She turned and ordered, “Beurling and Rudel, started getting geared up. We're leaving in ten. The rest of you remain on standby.” After that was done, the trio briskly walked out of the hanger and out of immediate ear shot. Marseilles did a quick once over the surrounding area and whispered, “What is it?”

“It's plainly obvious that we're heading into an ambush, but I feel that the enemy is doing this purposefully because they know who's going to get sent in.” Aaron reported.

The mood went from quizzical to dark with those words. Marseilles felt the chilling sensation of dread creep down her spine. _That makes an uncomfortably lot of sense. This is a job for the recon flights and engineers, not us, but this has got Montgomery spooked something fierce. Are they somehow going off of his caution, knowing that he won't commit until the coast is clear? Maybe..._ “I trust your judgment Lieutenant Divale. We'll take all due caution with this.” she stated.

“Hold out your right hands, both of you.” Divale suggested. Both the witches did so and he held them in either hand. “Locus.” he intoned Two small marks appeared on the tops of their right hands, each one a symbol, that of three black triangles arranged in a pyramid. “These are temporary locator runes, the exact same ones that I gave Major Sakamoto and Sergeant Planchard when I got what remained of her unit out of France These allow me to not only know where you all are at all times, but to come to you as well. If any of you need me, take your first three fingers and tap those triangles three times.”

******************

Pottgen kept her eyes peeled as she looked through the binoculars, the desert winds whipping through her blond hair and the sun beating down mercilessly. Right by her right side was Marseilles, her machine gun at the ready, and on the left was Aaron, fully kitted out and holding his 17 pound antitank cannon, Mio's katana by his side. Bringing up the rear were Rudel and Beurling, the former with her distinctive 37mm antiaircraft cannon and the latter with her kukri knife. The flight had been making their way towards El Kala for almost a full hour, looking for the exact spot where those pictures were taken. So far, their efforts have turned up nothing, despite having the coordinates and Divale's excellent memory. It got under Marseilles' skin and there were times that she looked like she was going to explode in anger. To be bluntly honest, she would've had it not been for Raisa not giving up, vowing time and again that they would find it. As the pilot officer panned slowly left to right, the sense of desperation began to settle in. _Come on damn it! Come on! Where the fuck is it?! Hanna won't take anymore excuses! If I don't find it soon she'll-_ Suddenly, around a mile and a half off in the distance, was a long series of undulating sand dunes with numerous shell craters and behind that was a verdant strip of green space that was too far away to make out. “Aaron! I think I found something! One o clock low!” she called out, handing the binos over to him.

Though he really didn't need them, Aaron took the binoculars from Raisa with his right hand and rose hard up in the air vertically like a submarines periscope. Once he got five hundred feet up, he leveled off and took a look in that general direction. Below him, Marseilles took a quick glance upwards and then back over to her friend. “Are you sure this is it?” she asked, doing her best to hide her impatience.

Maintaining her composure, Raisa replied, “I'm absolutely sure we have it this time Hanna. There's no way it can't be.”

The lieutenant said nothing as she looked straight ahead, stewing in silence as she looked at her watch, angling it so the glare wouldn't alert anyone to their position. _This had better be fucking it because I'm getting really pissed off. This attack has us at the forefront and I don't want it called off completely due to some general getting the willies. Seriously, why do we always get f-_ “That's it lieutenant!” Aaron bellowed from above. “Orders?!”

 _Now that's more like it._ “Group up and go low and slow. Halt near that forward dune quietly.” Marseilles ordered. A chorus of curt affirmations rang out and the squadron dove down towards the surface. Not wanting to cause sand trails from getting too close, they arranged themselves in a line, keeping up above one hundred feet. With her at the front and Rudel in the back, the flight weaved in and around the dunes like a blade of grass fluttering in the wind. The lieutenant kept her focus square on the dune she wanted to get to, counting down in her head when she needed to kill the Strikers. _Three, two, one..._ “Kill them now!” Marseilles shouted, turning off her Strikers. The engines spluttered as the switch turned off and the rotor started to wind down. Bereft of flight for the briefest of seconds, she braced herself for impact, turning off to her left side, left hand over the receiver so that it wouldn't get clogged with sand. Her body hit the dune shortly afterwards. Though it was slow, she came down hard, the force causing her to grunt in pain. The rest of the flight literally fell in around her except for Aaron whose wings prevented him from knocking into the dune entirely. He set himself down gently and went over to all of them, checking to see if they were alright. When he got to Marseilles, she waved him off and ordered, “Get over that dune and take a look.”

Divale nodded in silent understanding and hoofed it up the dune. Before he went over the top, he intoned, “Obscurum.” In a flash, he was invisible to the naked eye and got down low in his hunches, advancing slowly as not to kick up the grains. Once he got close enough, he popped his head over and scanned the scene. Around one hundred feet away was long stretch of shell craters, most of the interiors vitrified from the heat of explosions and some so deep that he could stand inside and still be hidden. Spent high caliber artillery shell casings were scattered everywhere, the brass casting off a harsh glare. Several of the guns had in fact been knocked out, the long steel barrels burned and twisted. Here and there were wrecks of the gun carriers, all hollowed out from the fires that consumed them, broken glass and scraps of blackened canvas circling each one like a dark halo. Further beyond that, a good few hundred feet off, was a small grove but long grove of wild almond trees, the nuts just peeking past the white pink flowers. The wind picked up slightly and blew into the warlock's face. Normally, he would regard it as an inconvenience, but not here and now. _I'm downwind. If anyone's lying in wait for us out there, I'll sniff them out._ He took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of the battlefield. The vicious reek of powder, diesel and gasoline, and sand coalesced into a potpourri of war, with strange hints of almond flowers. Something else was there too, the faintest hint of something sharp and cloying, something that Aaron knew very well. _Sweat. There's quite a bit of it too. Seems like we're going to have company in those trees._ Content that his sweep was finished, he slowly crept back down the dune, killing the spell once he was completely out of sight. “Nothing in the immediate vicinity, but there are enemies hiding in that grove of almond trees. Lots of them.” he reported.

“Numbers and armament?” Marseilles asked.

Divale shook his head. “Unknown on both counts. Couldn't get a good look, but I could smell them.” he replied.

 _Better than going in blind._ “Alright people, huddle up and let's go over the plan one more time.” the lieutenant demanded. The four members of the team closed ranks and waited for Hanna to speak. “Lieutenant Divale will lead out in front while invisible and we all spread out fifty feet behind him. Once he picks them out, he'll use a spell that will cause a great gust of wind. If they're behind any loose cover, it will blow away and reveal their positions. In the confusion, he drops the invisibility and we all attack as one. Keep your Strikers on standby mode and climb hard into the air. That will give us the height advantage we need while Aaron distracts.”

“Don't go overboard Aaron.” Rudel quipped. “Save some for us okay?”

Divale regarded the colonel with a sly smile and answered, “No promises.” He then regarded Marseilles and inquired, “If they have any five chevrons, do I have permission to engage?”

“Only if it is the one known as Matilda.” the lieutenant clarified.

“The one that I encountered at that airfield near Tobruk?” the warlock pressed.

“Yes. That bitch and I have a score to settle. You can engage anyone but her. That's an order lieutenant.” the witch declared.

“I seem to remember another five chevron a Gibraltar, a short Japanese witch that carried multiple weapons.” Aaron remembered. “Do you know who she is?”

“That would be Inagaki Mami.” Raisa stated. “She used to be a part of our squadron before she got turned. Why?”

“I've got something that will take her completely out of the fight quickly if we cross paths.” Divale explained.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Marseilles queried. No one said a single word and the lieutenant shouldered her weapon. “Lead on Lieutenant Divale. We're counting on you.”

*****************

Inagaki slowed her breathing as she shouldered her 40mm Bofors, one in each hand. Again, she looked around with her eyes, not moving the head lest someone spot her. Scattered throughout the almond tree grove were small fire teams of witches, hidden in covered trenches, behind trees, or in them, shielded by the blossoming flowers. Many of them were having difficultly controlling their breathing and staying still, the prospects of combat with the vaunted 31st JFS Afrika too much to bear. As for her, Mami was in a hastily dug trench covered with sod. The smell of earth and green was strong and it irritated her nose to no end. _Still, we need to keep hidden. They may be few in number, but they have the advantage in experience. A lot of people are going to die today._ She thought of Katou and Patricia and her jaw hardened, the memories that they would've had if they lived flashing through her head, events and experiences that now will never come to pass. _If I do die, I'm taking one of them out with me. Guaranteed. To hell with the orders._ Suddenly, past the grove and the recently vacated battlefield, something seemed to make marks in the dune off in front of her, pressing into the sand and displacing the grains. At first she suspected that the light wind was shifting the sands or maybe a sinkhole underneath the dune, but then the witch noticed that the strange marking were getting closer. The wind picked up, casting grains of loose sand everywhere. However, upon crossing through the space where the marks were still being made, the sand seemed to collide with something that shouldn't be there, but was, a massive invisible figure. Her eyes widened at the sight and her heart rate jumped. _It's got to be the warlock! Where is the rest of the 31_ _st_ _?!_ As if they heard her question, several more shapes started to crest the dune. Pair by pair, four heads popped up followed by their bodies and Strikers, weapons out and at the ready, panning for targets.

Inagaki licked her lips in expectation and went over the particulars of Matilda's plan in her head. _We'll shave down the glass on the vials until it gets to he point where the smallest tightening of the fist will be enough to crack it. Then, we lie in wait for them inside the almond grove using whatever cover we have at our disposal. Hide the tracks and stay out of sight. I fully expect the warlock to start things off so be on your guard. Remember, he's to be distracted not killed. In the midst of that distraction, you or I will get close to the witches, engage hard, 'lose' our vials, and watch as they pick them in triumph only to get spirited away. The warlock will then have no choice but to go to Tunis to save them._

***************

Aaron advanced slowly, taking in the sights or lack thereof as he crept closer and closer to almond tree grove. He had stowed away the 17 pounder and was now holding his machine gun, searching for enemies. His hearing could pick up the scrish of sand as the rest of the flight moved up behind him. The wind came up and blew sand in his face, but he didn't feel it, his entire being focused on the task at hand. +Imago calor+, he subvocalized. The greens faded away into a blooms of reds, patches of heated sand obscuring some parts of his new sight. Divale concentrated more, using an extra boost of his magic to clear up the natural interference. It paid off, for he now could detect with little difficulty the tell tale shapes of people hidden in the trees or in covered holes. _You can't hide from me you little vipers._ His lips curled into a smug smile and he took a deep breath. “Maiorevimurum” he whispered.

***************

I could've been a trick of the wind, but Inagaki swore that she heard a whisper. _What was that?_ Suddenly, that very wind that supposedly played a trick revealed that it certainly didn't. Like a tsunami, everything around where those tracks had been last soared high into the air and rolled through the almond grove. Entire swathes of sand dunes evaporated into clouds of of orange grains, getting into eyes, ears, and weapon receivers. The low lying grasses were matted down flat and loose sod peeled up like the lid of a tin can being opened by a can opener, revealing the witches lying in wait. Even the trees weren't spared the wrath of the typhoon like winds, trunks a good foot and a half thick snapping like twigs, their precious nuts and flowers falling like rain along with those unfortunate enough to be in the limbs. Mami's perch bucked and swayed like a ship at sea, various branches tearing off. Though it stood tall against the tide, the damage was done for her cover was blown. The witch had barely managed to squint her eyes, shielding it for debris and held her cries of surprise deep within. Many of her host didn't, telling the enemy exactly where they were. _Damn it! We're found!_ Going off of instinct alone, Inagaki jumped down from the tree and landed behind the trunk, getting as low as possible. “Light them up!” she screamed as her Strikers came to life. Gunfire erupted from all around her, machine guns and antiaircraft cannons spraying the still heavily obscured area in front of them. As for her, Mami shouldered her Bofors and whipped around the trunk, searching for any sign of the warlock. Tracer fire played hell with her eyes, but she could discern a large winged shape moving hard and fast through the miasma. It was swift and silent for but a moment before the harsh barks of a heavy caliber weapon shook her ears drums.

The bark of the tree she took cover behind was shorn off by the bullets, making her sink further down. The witch pulled the trigger, answering with a salvo of 40mm shells. They screamed out the barrel, leaving contrails of the still lingering, but now rapidly diminishing sand cloud. She wasn't sure if they hit anything or not, but she didn't care. _We have to distract him. This plan has to work._ Out of the corner of her eye, Inagaki could see a pair of witches firing their MG42s from a small trench, casings spewing out of the ejector ports like steam from a screaming tea kettle. One of them ran out of ammunition and searched for more, but never got the chance. Her body spasmed and puffs of crimson red flew outwards from her chest and the witch fell back and to the right, blood pouring out of the most certainly mortal wounds. The witch next to her shouted something that was lost in the din and pounced down, trying to drag her away to safety, but her head suddenly exploded, twin bullets shattering the cranium to pieces. Mami winced as more lives were snuffed out. _No matter the cost._

***************

“Climb! Climb! Keep those shields at the front until we gain some altitude!” Marseilles yelled at the top of her lungs, revving her Strikers hard. The flight instantly obeyed, soaring high into the air while braving the incoming fire from the enemy within the almond grove. Though Aaron's spell had blinded them, it was still a dangerous maneuver to do under the circumstances. _A stray bullet does just as much damage as an aimed one._ Thankfully, they managed to get away with so much a glancing blow off their shields and they climbed to a good thousand feet into the air, spreading out but keeping close enough to cover each other. “Keep an eye out for interceptors!” she bellowed, racking the bolt to her machine gun.

“I have multiple contacts coming in at twelve o clock! They're coming from deeper within the grove!” Rudel called out pointing, with her left hand.

The lieutenant looked and sure enough, the enemy pilots were rising from the ground to engage them. “Alright ladies, take them down and give Aaron some cover! No mercy!” she demanded, throwing herself forwards into the soon to be fray and aiming down the sights of her MG34, the rest of them falling in behind her. As they advanced, Marseilles did a quick head count of what they were facing. _Looks like two squadrons full. This is not... Wait a second! They're not even three chevron ranked!_ Closer and closer the two sides came until engagement range. Triggers were pulled, Strikers were revved, and war cries echoed through the air as lead filled the skies over the almond grove. She blew through the chaos and took carefully aimed potshots, Raisa by her side calling out enemy bearings. Rudel and Beurling took matters a bit differently, the colonel getting in close and unloading into her targets while her wingman spun like a dervish, lashing out with her kukri. The maneuvers unnerved the witches they were facing and they broke out in every direction.

“Three are alone Hanna! Bearing ten o clock low! I'll cover you!” Pottgen called out.

“Rodger that! Moving in now!” Hanna responded. Strikers whined as they dove towards their prey. The one that was unfortunate enough to be the first looked behind her, eyes widening in fear. Frantically, the witch spun around and fired her machine gun at her approaching attackers. The pair aileron rolled and yawed to the left, making the shots go wide. Marseilles slowed her breathing, took aim, and let loose two five round bursts. They struck true, making the shields chime loudly until they broke like glass. Six were absorbed this way while the rest slammed into the right leg at the hip. The enemy witch yelped in pain and blood streamed from the wound. Apparently the bone broke and the right Striker simply drooped and sputtered as the connection was severed. Her speed went down dramatically and the lieutenant shouted, “Take her Rai!”

“On it!” Pottgen replied. The pilot officer brought up her machine gun and fired. With no shields, the enemy pilot was defenseless, taking a series of shots into the chest and abdomen. She watched as the Strikers went offline, the tell tale sign that she was dead. “Tango down!” she rang out after confirming the kill.

Marseilles nodded in silent acknowledgment and moved on to the next one. _One down, many more to go._

**************

Matilda weaved in and among the almond trees, doing her best to keep out of sight and occasionally hurling a stone from her sling in the warlock's general direction. What was once a calm grove has devolved into a hell hole, with lead and spells being thrown around with near reckless abandon. Everywhere she looked, death was there, bodies or parts of the bodies strewn about the green and sand. A few fell from the sky as the aerial elements engaged the rest of the 31 st , their forms turning into a pulp when they hit the ground, making a sound akin to a grenade going off upon impact. Some exploded, the aetheric fuel cells of the Strikers rupturing and detonating. The blasts threw up tree, earth, and human beings through the air like shrapnel. She hopped over a fallen almond tree, landed in a small trench, and was about to move on when she heard a series of phlegmy coughs off to her left. The witch looked and saw one of the replacement pilots holding her blood soaked right side, doing her best to lean forwards from the trench wall. “Help me.” she pleaded, her voice weak and barely above a whisper. “Please help me. I don't want to die.”

Matilda didn't even need to look at the wound to know that it was fatal. No matter what she did would make no difference, but she got down low and crawled over to her. Once she got close enough, she held her firm and explained, “Your wound can't be treated. I can't save you. I'm sorry.”

Either out of blood loss or resignation, the witch leaned backwards and hit the trench wall hard, eyes crying silent tears as she looked up at the sky. Matilda did the same and saw that they were fairing just as bad up there. The replacement pilots were simply getting over matched by the experienced 31 st  JFS, the dogfights lasting barely twenty seconds. “They're winning aren't they?” the dying witch murmured. Before Matilda could respond, the pilot had a severe spasm and the throat began to emit this horrible death rattle. Knowing what was about to happen, she held her close as life left her, giving her some comfort in passing. A few seconds later, the witch wasn't breathing anymore and Matilda laid her down on the ground, closing the eyes afterwards.

Suddenly, Mami's voice rang out over the comms. “Matilda! We can't hold on much longer! That warlock is slaughtering us left and right! What do we do?!” she cried.

“Keep focused on the mission.” Matilda coolly replied as she started to move out again. “I'll start luring them to us and then we'll coordinate from there.”

“I'm getting cornered!” Inagaki reported. “He's moving too fast Matilda! I have to go through him!”

“Get airborne sergeant. You have the sky. Use it.” Matilda advised.

There was a long pause and when the Japanese witch answered, there was a great sadness to her voice. “It's too late for me Matilda. Get the job done. I-I think I'm going to go see Katou now. Goodbye friend.”

**********************

In a last desperate attempt to save herself, the enemy witch raised her antiaircraft cannon to parry a large silver angelic wing away from her body. While the wing was wielded by a so called angel, there was no mercy in his burning bronze eyes as it came down hard. The feathers cut through the layered metal with ease and into the chest of the frightened doomed pilot. Blood erupted like a geyser from the deep cut and her breath came out with a wheeze as the lungs were ruptured. Aaron withdrew the wing and watched as life left his enemy's eyes, seeing them glaze over as death took them far away from the cruel reality that was transpiring all around him. The ground was a mess, all manner of debris scattered around the once peaceful almond grove. Sand, sod, tree trunks, shell casings from the ground forces and the aerial battle raging overhead, craters, bullet holes in the wood, blood, gore, and bodies and parts of bodies each became landmarks, showcasing the path of destruction and death. The smell of gun smoke and vitae was thick in the air. He had long ago shed the effects of imago calor and simply waded headlong into the firefight, using his wings as shields, his machine gun to take out the foe from range, and his katana to deal with close range threats and cast spells. Crimson stained his face, hands, and uniform, the gleaming medals he had worn now less so due being caked with the stuff. Out of the corner of his eye, a group of three witches started to move among some downed almond trees, setting up a firing line of sorts to counter him. The warlock sprang into motion, his legs kicking up sand and dislodged sod as he went. The trio noticed what was happening and instead of standing their ground, they turned and fled. Aaron slung his machine gun over his shoulder and his left hand started to glow an icy blue. “Radius glaciem.” he intoned. Upon saying those words, a beam of cold shot from his hand and strangely weaved around the fleeing witches and struck the ground. With the sound akin to grinding glass, the entire stretch turned into a thick sheet of ice.

It caught the enemy off guard and they slipped on the ice, falling hard and tumbling end over end. Divale simply strode forwards, his left hand steaming as the cold discharge vaporized from the desert heat and his right hand flicked the katana this way and that. The witches scrambled to get up, but their Strikers were equipped for dry environments and they continued to struggle to regain their footings. “Now where do you all think you're going?” he coolly commented with a cocked eyebrow. At that moment, the areas which the witches were in undulated like water and the ice sheet quickly wrapped around their legs and arms, pinning them in place. _It's all too easy._ Then, an image flickered across the mirror like surface and the warlock instinctively raised his right wing just in time to deflect a series of heavy caliber shells. The impacts were hard, but they didn't penetrate. His face contorted with frustration and Aaron dove towards a tree stump and shoulder rolled behind it as the bullet continued to fly towards him. Through the din, he heard a click and a soft curse. _Out of ammo._ “Didn't your mother ever tell you to not interrupt people while they work?” Divale called out, sneaking a quick peek over the stump.

Roughly fifty feet away, the barrel of a 40mm Bofors smoking as a fresh clip was rammed home, was the exact same Japanese witch that the warlock encountered at Gibraltar. _Inagaki._ Her face was in the throes of rage and hate, jaw hard to the point where it could shatter at any moment. The dark brown eyes burned as she aimed and pulled the trigger again, sending Aaron back into cover. “Die damn you! Die! Die! Pop that head out one more time! Let me give you the good death you deserve for what you've done to Patricia!” she screamed, the casings flying out of the ejector port and falling to the ground.

 _I don't have time for you bitch._ Aaron counted down the rounds left in the magazine as Inagaki fired with reckless abandon. Once she got down to the last two, he jumped up over the stump, lead and wood splinters whizzing past his legs. He stretched out his left hand and intoned, “Capio Inagaki.”

********************

Mami saw the warlock jump over the stump and swore under her breath in her native tongue. _Bastard waited for it!_ She was about to fish around for another clip, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Her eyes widened and she tried to throw her body this way and that to escape this invisible grip, but to no avail. Thankfully, her head was still capable of moving and she looked out at the warlock who was calmly moving off to the right side of the stump, blade in hand. _What is he doing to me?! How is he doing this?!_ Then, the warlock raised his left hand and crooked his index finger. Inagaki then started to float towards him and she gasped in horror. Again and again she strained and struggled, but the spell was too strong. Once she got right up to the stump, the warlock then commanded her body to kneel, placing her head square on the wood, turning the stump into an improvised executioners block. “There is no such thing as a good death for me, you, or anyone else.” he quipped. He then slowly lifted the katana high into the air. “Any last words?” he asked without emotion.

Mami knew that she was going to die and everything in her wanted her to cry, but the tears refused to fall, her pride not wanting to give the warlock the satisfaction. “No matter how many of us you kill today, we will have our victory!” she bellowed at the top of her lungs. “We will triumph and all will serve the mistress! Vengeance will be ours warlock! Enjoy your successes while they last warlock, for mark my words, you will be laid low before long!”

Content that was all there was to say, Aaron swung the katana down, the blade going through the spine and neck of Inagaki Mami and embedding itself a good two inches into the wood. He released the spell and the body of the dead witch slumped to the right, blood pouring out of the now vacant space. Her head didn't so much as move, the cut so perfect that it didn't disturb it. Without ceremony, Divale then turned to the other three witches that had observed this while still caught by his other spell. Unlike Inagaki, they were crying tears of sadness and fear, their only chance of freedom denied. The warlock's eyes narrowed. _Now where was I?_

********************

Another burst of fire from Marseilles machine gun streamed out the red hot smoking barrel and pockmarked an enemy's left Striker. A round found the aetheric fuel cells and the entire unit exploded, enveloping the witch and everything within seven feet in a ball of fire and energy. The concussive force whipped her hair all over her face, but she kept on flying hard, veering high and away to a pocket of relative safety. With haste, Hanna started to reload her weapon, flipping the receiver port open and fishing out another long chain of bullets from her ammunition pouch. As she did so, the lieutenant took stock of what was going on above, below, and all around her. The aerial battle was quickly dying down as the 31 st  simply downed witch after witch with near impunity, with herself accounting for ten. Very little remained of the host that faced them not even five minutes before. A quick gaze below and her eyes quickly found Aaron's blood stained trail of death and destruction, following the gore and bodies until she found him in the process of turning to face three witches that he had caught in a spell of his, katana in hand, walking away from a five chevron who he'd just beheaded. Memories ran through her head as she took in the woman's style of dress and size. _Inagaki. That only leaves Matilda now._ Marseilles started to turn away as she rammed the first round into the receiver and slammed the port down, but as she did so, a very familiar shape ran through the trees. Her brow furrowed as she pulled the bolt back, now gazing intently at the fleeing figure. Most of the almond grove was felled by explosions, lead, and magic, but there was enough towards the deeper interior to mask movement.

“Hanna.” a voice rang out behind her. Marseilles turned and saw her friend Raisa holding up, her face partially blackened from powder marks. “Most of the enemy witches have been shot down with minimal ammo waste.” The pilot officer then glanced down at the ground and visibly shivered at what she saw before adding, “And it looks like the lieutenant is handling his end of things.”

“Not all though.” Hanna replied, regarding where she saw that mysterious figure last. “There's one of them down there and I aim to to find out who.”

Pottgen got nervous and advised, “Aaron has it under control Hanna. You have no reason to go down there.”

“You three are more than enough to mop up. I'm heading down. You have command until I return. That's an order.” Marseilles curtly shot back. Raisa opened her mouth to say something, but the sounds of revving Strikers drowned out the words. Like a bolt of lightning from the sky, Hanna dove hard, aiming for a spot just outside the tree line. Once she got close enough, she killed the engines, causing her body to free fall. Tucking and rolling with her right shoulder, she mitigated the effects of the impact and sprang up to her feet, panning her machine gun at anything that could possibly hide an enemy. Save for some random shots near where Aaron was, nothing amiss could be discerned. A bead of sweat traced its trail down her forehead as she slowly advanced into the almond grove, her breathing steady and her right index finger on the trigger at all times. Her Strikers crunched down on the sand and broken branches, making an odd scrish crack sound that no matter how much she tried, she couldn't completely mask her footsteps. Regardless, Marseilles advanced at the ready, keeping her body and breathing low. _Where are you? I know you're out here bitch. Come out and play._

Suddenly, something stirred in a bush almost fifty feet off to her right and Hanna wasted no time in whipping around and firing a five round burst in the dead center of it. Lead shredded the leaves and thin twigs into green confetti within a second. Looking intently at the damage she did, she was dismayed to see that there was nothing there at all except a piece of jagged rock. Her eyes widened and she swore under her breath.  _Fuck! I've been had!_ “Itching for a fight that badly Hanna?” a very familiar feminine voice calmly asked behind her. Rather than stupidly turn around and look, Marseilles dove for the nearest cover there was, in this case, a downed tree trunk and backed up into it. She closed her blue eyes for but a moment and took a peek over the bark. There, not even ten feet away, was Matilda, her shield and spear at the ready and the white overcoat billowing gently in the breeze. “Even though you know you can't win?” Matilda added, cocking her eyebrow.

Her goading got to the lieutenant who stood up, MG 34 at her side and slowly moved her let hand towards her pistol. “I'm not itching for a fight Matilda, I'm demanding one.” Marseilles replied, rage building up inside her. “Before I wipe the sand with you, I want to know something. The others never knew that you betrayed us willingly, but I did. Why did you turn your back on us? Why did you aid them?” she inquired, her left hand twitching with expectation.

“The mistress had a better long term solution to the Neuroi problem Hanna.” Matilda answered without hesitation. “They aren't the true enemy here, we are. The only way to avoid the complete destruction of humanity is to let them see us as no threat and thus we have to integrate ourselves, to understand what their motives are.”

The lieutenant couldn't believe what she was hearing and the sheer shock of the words made her freeze. “W-W-What are you saying? We are t-t-the enemy? H-H-Have to intergrate? Understand? Have you l-l-lost your mind?” she stammered, unwilling to accept the reply.

“Wiping the warlocks out was a grave mistake, a mistake that we're all paying for. Without them, we have damned the human race to annihilation.” Matilda continued. “But it's not too late Hanna. There's still a chance to make this right, to save the lives of every man, woman, and child that still draws breath, that yearns for a future that doesn't involve this war.” She then shoved the bottom of the spear deep into the ground and extended her right hand. “We don't have to fight each other. Come with me, and together, the mistress and I will illuminate you to why this war with the Neuroi started and how we can end this conflict peacefully. Please Hanna. I want to be your friend again.” she offered.

Marseilles blinked once, twice, and gritted her teeth as she seethed, “You've gone insane. That mistress you refer to has polluted your mind with lies.” She looked Matilda dead in the eyes and screamed, “I'll never forgive you for what you did to us! You ruined everything! You've done nothing to contribute to a solution except turning my friends and others against us! You have any idea what it was like to see them die?! It ripped me apart and it still does! I'll never join you! Never!”

Matilda then withdrew her right hand, a look of sadness to her face as she plucked the assagai out of the soil, bits of dirt coming off the end. She then planted her right foot behind her, crouching down slightly as she stated, “The mistress was right. Those that can't be made to see the light, must be destroyed.”

At the very end of that statement, Marseilles changed her mind about grabbing her pistol and instead raised her MG34 up, held it firm, aimed, and fired. Lead sped out of the barrel, but Matilda was expecting it all the way. She threw herself forwards, feet churning up sand and sod as the witch got away from the stream of bullets headed her way, the rounds screaming harmlessly by. Hanna cursed, her prey getting closer and closer with every heartbeat, trying to level the machine towards the ground in order to cut off a possible avenue of attack. However, the weapon was cumbersome and heavy and Matilda's spear wasn't either of those two things. With a deft twirl of her assagai, she brought the wooden butt end of it down hard on the receiver port. The impact was bone jarring and Marseilles could only watch as the metal was bent inwards to the point where her gun was rendered completely inoperable. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the spear tip coming down, aiming right at her head and throat. She let go of the useless MG34 and jumped backwards, pulling her head back to avoid certain death. The assagai spear tip sailed through the air and narrowly missed, the blade cutting a small bit of Hanna's long blond hair away without trouble. 

Matilda adjusted her stance, keeping her weapon moving, watching her enemy right trying to find her footing, her brow furrowed in thought.  _She's trying to play me, to draw me in so she can have an advantage. Foolish, but I must press hard. Can't give her breathing space._ That in mind, she moved forwards, the spear spinning fast and furious. Marseilles whipped out her Beretta with her right hand and looped her left hand into the holes of her brass knuckles. Before she could flick the safety off, her enemy was upon her, the spear moving so fast that it resembled an out of control saw. She shifted right and kept a close eye on Matilda's hips and spear movements, timing when the blade would come down.  _Steady Hanna... steady... now!_ Hanna uppercutted with her left hand just as the assagai tip came down, catching the sharp steel and twisting away. The click of the safety going offline made her smile as she instinctively hip fired three shots into the momentarily defenseless witch. As soon as that grin came, it melted away as Matilda did something that Hanna didn't expect. She though that she would roll to the left and one of the rounds would catch her, but her quarry was far more savvy than she realized. Instead of that, she side rolled closer to her and swung out with the spear, knocking into the back of her knees. The hit took her off the ground and Marseilles began to fall backwards towards the earth. 

Utterly at her mercy, Matilda took a quick half step back, inverted the assagai and plunged it downwards to impale Hanna as she hit the ground. Taking a massive risk, Marseilles did the only thing that she could do. Riding the impact, she used that force to make her spine move like a whip, a rolling wave of bone in the hopes of making her back flip out of the way. The spear tip came down and found purchase on the metal of her right Striker, the blade making sparks as it ran and bit along the length of her leg. Thankfully, it wasn't deep enough to cause tissue damage and the lieutenant escaped without injury. Knowing she had an opening, the German leapt up into the air with all her might when she got her feet under her, leveling the Beretta at Matilda's head. The warrior did a split and pulled the spear out with her right hand, sending the wooden butt straight up, striking the pistol just as Hanna's finger pulled the trigger. The hit threw the barrel upwards and the shot went awry. Matilda spun herself to her feet and hopped on a small stump, using it as leverage to jump after her, the assagai swinging in a wide arc.

Marseilles knew her chance was gone and looked for a way to evade. Her blue eyes found a possible way out in the form of a still standing almond tree. Tucking in her legs and bending her spine just a tad, she caused her body to spin to the left. Silently, she counted down in her head.  _Three, two, one, now!_ Gritting her teeth, Hanna kicked out with both her legs simultaneously and got just enough of the trunk to push herself away just as the flash of Matilda's spear blade flew on past, the steel going into and through the tree like it was nothing. Matilda saw where her enemy went and continued to swing the spear, using the end to hit the now falling trunk to send her body down. Marseilles spun horizontally and fired her Beretta three more times, hoping that she could pierce the tree trunk that she knew Matilda was hiding behind. Judging from the lack of the chiming of shields, they didn't and now her pistol was empty, leaving her with nothing but her brass knuckled to defend herself with. Once she hit the ground, the lieutenant shoulder rolled into a small trench and quickly reloaded her gun, hearing the trunk crash into the ground. The harsh clicks of sending the magazine in and racking the slide seemed to be the magic incantations that caused the fight to enter a lull, a status that Hanna didn't like in the least. Gripping the gun in both hands, she rose up slowly from the trench and took a look around. By this time, the fallen tree looked to have rolled a small ways before coming to a stop, but Matilda was nowhere to be seen. 

Sweat from the combination of exertion and fear trickled down the back of her neck and Marseilles slowly crept out of the trench. The sounds of the aerial battle were rapidly decreasing and practically nothing could be heard on the ground.  _Yet why do I hear something out there somewhere?_ Her fingers flexed several times, feeling the cold trigger on her right index finger. That was when the lieutenant saw the leaves of a bush off to her right move. Her first instinct was to shoot it, but after what happened earlier, she didn't bite. Instead, she panned the Beretta to the left and that move ended up saving her life for Matilda was right there, lunging with the assagai straight at her head. With uncanny speed, Hanna took her left hand off the pistol and used her brass knuckles to jab into the lower part of the spear while angling the gun just under the blade. The mighty blow reverberated in her hands and up her arms, making both combatants wince in pain, the trigger guard barely holding the steel tip at bay. Now they were face to face, Hanna's blue eyes burning with rage and Matilda's deep brown orbs glowing with righteous purpose, their arms locked and shaking as each one tried to overpower the other. “It gave me no pleasure to do what I did Hanna.” Matilda said sadly. “If there was another way around, I would've taken it. For what it's worth now, I'm sorry.”

Hanna's ears refused to hear, her heart shut off all sense of pity and mercy, and her mind continued to bellow one word: Vengeance. “Fuck you!” she screamed and her anger fueled a second wind, her right hand pushing into the spear tip, bending the shaft inch by inch until she took a gamble and fired three shots. The first two went over Matilda's head, but the last round grazed her left cheek. As the blood flowed freely from the wound, Marseilles grinned like a maniac as even more ire built up inside of her.  _She's not using her shields? Are you trying to coddle me you cunt!? I'll make you pay!_ However, the attack did more than make her see red. Up to now, Matilda had in fact been playing with her like a child does their food, but after feeling the burn of the bleeding cut across her cheek, playtime was officially over. She spun the assagai clockwise hard, wrenching the lieutenant's arms into each other and kicked out with her right foot. Her sandal struck true, burying itself into Hanna's midsection with more than enough force to knock the wind out of her. The German crumpled into a heap, dropping the pistol as her body went into the fetal position, her breath coming out in strained wheezes. Knowing she had won, Matilda took the vial from her pocket and threw it down at Hanna. It landed right against the temple and cracked, activating the spell contained within. “Say hello to the mistress when you see her.” she coldly stated moments before the body blinked out of existence.

*************

“This is the last one ladies! Let's take this bitch down, locate the lieutenant, and get out of here!” Raisa relayed through her communicator as she chased the last bogey left in the sky. The enemy started to roll downwards and she aimed in front of where it would go and pulled the trigger. Instead of the hard bang of bullets being discharged, a loud click reached Pottgen's ears.  _Jam._ Knowing that there was nothing she could contribute to the fight, the pilot officer held back and frantically tried to unjam the machine gun. As she did so, she happened to take a glance down at the almond grove, or what was left of it. Bodies of dead witches and craters from where the Strikers had exploded were littered like crushed bits of fruit on white and green carpet. Nothing seemed to stir and neither Aaron nor Hanna were to be found at her present position. Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Raisa held the gun with her knees and pulled at the bolt hard and upwards every so often with her right hand as she used her left hand to fiddle with the ejector port.  _Come on! Where are you you little fucker!_ After a few more seconds, her left index finger scraped across something pointed yet smooth to the touch.  _There you are!_ Using her pinky now, Pottgen inched it in and pushed with all the might that she could muster. The troublesome bullet moved a tad and simply fell out. “We're back in business.” she muttered with a smile on her face. 

Her look of triumph didn't last long for at that exact moment, she heard small arms fire coming from the grove below her. Whipping her head around, the pilot officer maneuvered to the right and decreased altitude in order to investigate. Another shot rang out and an uneasy cold feeling took hold of her as she slowly began to realize that whatever was firing those rounds was audibly familiar to her. _That's a Beretta! Hanna's Beretta!_ Terror overtook all sense of caution and Raisa revved her Strikers hard, diving through the semi dense canopy and hovered not even three over the ground. “Hanna! Where are you?!” she called out, looking all around her anxiously. Despite her anxiety, she did her best to calm down and that helped her discern amongst the vegetation some shapes moving at incredible speeds and voices that seemed to sound like her friend. Her actions were swift and Pottgen killed the Strikers and upon landing ran towards the commotion. _Hanna may be a great pilot, but if she's going up against Matilda, she's going to need my help. Consequences be damned!_ _Please don't let me be too late!_ Low hanging branches smacked into her legs and arms, but she paid them no mind. Closer and closer she came and with her legs burning from exertion, the German witch leapt up and over a felled almond tree and her heart sank into despair. For an instant, Marseilles was there on the ground writhing in pain as Matilda finished some sort of monologue and the next she vanished in a swirl of purplish light and smoke. 

“No!” Raisa screamed. Matilda whirled around, sling loaded and at the ready and glared at her with a defiant air. “Damn you!” the pilot officer yelled and she raised her machine gun upwards. She never got a chance to fire as Matilda let loose the aetherically powered stone from her sling. It flew through the air with the speed of a bullet and struck the weapon in Pottgen's hands. It shattered like glass, sending red hot metal everywhere like shrapnel from a grenade. The force of the impact sent the German witch backwards and into the trunk of the almond tree that she had just come over hard. Pain flared up her back and she yelped in agony. Defenseless and momentarily unable to move, Raisa could only watch as Matilda advanced, tucking her sling back into one of her pockets and brandishing her assagai, the tip moving through the air like a silver blur. “What did you do to her!” she hissed as she tried to get her movement back.

“I sent her on her merry way to Tunis Raisa.” Matilda replied, eyes locked on Raisa. “She's going to meet with the mistress quite soon and have, shall we say, a change of heart.” She continued to move towards her until she came within two feet and stated as she brought the spear upwards, “It's just too bad that you won't be around to see how beautiful she'll look afterwards. Goodbye old friend.” Still unable to fully move, Pottgen watched as the instrument of her demise continued to go up and up until it stopped, hovering for just a brief second.  _This is it. I'm going to die. I really could use some help right- Wait! The triangles!_ The revelation imbued the witch with vigor and she quickly tapped the three triangles that Aaron had given her and Marseilles just as the blade came down towards her heart. The German witch closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer to God that Divale would be able to save her. In her mind's eye, she visualized the spear tip coming closer and closer in slow motion, the steel mere inches from her chest. Suddenly, a harsh grinding clang followed by a crack and a grunt of shock from Matilda made her open her eyes again and widen with awe.

A long blade had deflected the deadly strike and a long leg had stomped the tip so hard that the wood broke, making the weapon a bo staff in one fell swoop. A large hand gripped the space between Matilda's grip, locking it in place. Slowly, like a shark's fin coming out of the water, came the form of Aaron Divale, his bronze eyes burning with violent intent, his face taut with purpose and dripping with blood, the wing tucked behind him. For a second, Raisa could've sworn that she felt her heart stop upon seeing the lieutenant come out of her hand and her feeling nothing whatsoever that would indicate his passing. “Capio Matilda.” he intoned, holding out his left hand and just like Inagaki before her, the witch seized up, frozen in place. Matilda felt the spell take hold and fought with everything she had left. Aaron could feel her strength and his eyes twitched as his own magic was being tested to its limits. Taking advantage of the situation, Raisa rolled out of the way and stood up, watching the duel of wills. She could've sworn that it was a trick of the eye, but there was no mistake about it. Despite being restrained, Matilda was still moving, reaching for her sling. That was when Divale flicked his wrist and articulated the fingers of his left hand at odd angles. Without warning, all of Matilda's fingers bent backwards and snapped, the digits dislocated followed by the tell tale pops and cracks of elbows, knees, ankles, and wrists. She winced as her body broke, but not a peep did she make. Confident that he had rendered his prey unable to resist, Aaron spoke to Raisa without looking, “What happened to Hanna? Where is she?”

“She said that she sent her to Tunis.” Pottgen answered.

“That I did.” Matilda seethed, her voice wracked with physical pain. “You won't have long to save her.”

The warlock tightened his left hand and Matilda began to choke as his magic started to crush her windpipe. “How did you do it?! Was it by vial?! And if so, is there another?!” he pressed.

“Inagaki had one on her.” Matilda wheezed.

“I'll get it and save her Aaron!” the pilot officer declared. “Where's the body?!”

“You'll be going to your doom.” Matilda quipped as best as she could. “The room where you'll be going is coated with a thin layer of witchbane.”

“You lie!” Raisa retorted angrily, picking up the broken spear tip, holding it like a dagger in her right hand.

“She's telling the truth.” Aaron stated, his voice making all the ire within his friend dissipate. He then turned his head to face her, glancing at the improvised weapon in her hand and added, “I'll go in and get her out Raisa. I promise.”

Pottgen looked at Matilda and within two full steps was nose to nose with her. Without hesitation, she stabbed the one who betrayed them all in the chest, twisting the steel to make it hurt that much more. There was no scream, no cry of despair from Matilda's lips, just a sad expression to her face. As death came for her, she looked Raisa dead in the eyes and said, blood coming from the mouth, “I'm going to miss you Rai.” Taken aback by those words, the pilot officer let of the spear tip and backed away, watching as the life left Matilda's eyes and closed forever. Aaron let the body fall gently down, respect for his foe evident. Her vision stated to blur and she rubbed her eyes with her right uniform sleeve and looked at it. It was spotted with moisture and Raisa started to shake as she realized what it was.  _Why? After the betrayal, after the battles and skirmishes, after all the people she killed, after everything she's done to us, why am I crying?_


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the belly of the beast Aaron seeks a friend in desperate need of aid, only to find a horrible truth that will change everything.

_ **Chapter XXX: The Sixth Seal** _

_The day that I have long dreaded has finally come to pass. Resistance is futile. She has won._

Diary Entry July 17 th  1944

Hanna's eye fluttered once, twice, and finally three times before finally opening fully. Waves of pain in her stomach and head made her nauseous to the point where she thought she'd vomit, but she kept it down. Her vision was blurry and dark and she did her best to focus. Slowly, her sight came back, but it did very little to change the picture in front of her. From what Marseilles could figure, she was in a large chamber made entirely of stone, six thirty foot tall pillars holding up the heavy stone ceiling. Torches burned in sconces that were arranged in three, circling each pillar like a collar of light that cast eerie dancing shadows everywhere. _Where am I?_ The lieutenant tried to move, but her progress was stopped dead in its tracks by two taut chains that pulled her arms straight across from each other and thick manacles around her ankles that were bolted into a stone dais. That was when she felt a cold chill that made her shiver as if someone had opened a doorway in the middle of winter. Hanna also could see that her uniform had been removed entirely, clad in nothing but her panties, her long blond hair covering the majority of her bosom. Her mind started to realize where she was and she began to panic, twisting and pulling at the chains. The shackles cut into her wrists, but the witch gritted her teeth and kept on straining at her bonds. _Matilda said something about the mistress. That could only mean that I'm in Tunis! No! No! It can't end like this! I don't want to end up like the rest of them! Someone help me!_

“Well, well, well,” a woman's voice remarked in the darkness, “it would appear that I have a guest.” Marseilles froze and looked in the direction of where the voice came from. At first, she saw nothing, not even a shadow of this individual. Then she heard a soft grind and a flash of metal glinting in the low light. It was quick, but it cast just enough illumination to reveal a tall dark cloaked hooded figure standing almost five and a half feet tall. In the right hand, the mysterious woman held a small cinquedea, the blade sharp and tapered to a point. Unlike most weapons of that make, the edges were curved outwards like a handheld can opener and serrated. Seeing the weapon in her hand made Hanna swallow hard and she again tried to break herself free, grunting all the way. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the woman shake her head as if disappointed. “You can't get out of here oh vaunted Star of Africa. Those chains held much stronger and dangerous than you without issue. That, and even if you did escape, where would you run off too? You're surrounded by stone, witch, Neuroi, and hundreds of miles away from Allied lines.”

Her words sunk in and Marseilles reluctantly relented, conceding the point. Breathing a touch heavy from the exertion, she glared at the figure and asked, “Who are you? Where am I?”

The cinquedea twirled in the woman's right hand, the dexterity incredible and terrifying to watch. “Why you're in Tunis my dear.” the woman replied, strolling towards her with measured steps. “Or, to be more specific, the indoctrination chamber where women like yourself become so much more than that. It was here that your friends saw the light of my words and you will do the same.” Hanna's grip on her composure crumbled as the woman got closer and closer until she was on the last step leading up on the dais, her head level with that of her exposed chest. “As for me Lieutenant Hanna Justina Marseilles, I'm the mistress.” she concluded. The mistress tilted her head up a fraction and reached out with her left hand, the fingers lovingly caressing Hanna's jaw and right cheek. “Such beauty.” she mused, watching the witch recoil from the touch and squirm. “When Matilda told me about you many months ago, I had my doubts, but it seems to me now that you certainly live up to your name.”

Tired of being belittled, Marseilles summoned up her courage and and stated with confidence, “Though you may make a slave out of me and I will die, my friends will come for you and they'll make you pay for what you have done.”

“I'm sure they will.” the mistress agreed, shocking the witch. “In fact, I know they will.” She then started circling around Hanna and continued to speak. “It was I who told Matilda and Inagaki to set up that ambush while the rest of our forces withdrew. I gave them strict instructions to use there vials to snatch a witch. How they did it was up to them. Each of them had only one of these vessels.”

“I know that you can transport more than one person with those things.” Hanna retorted, doing her best to follow her with her head. “They'll all come in after you.”

“That is where you're very mistaken lieutenant.” the mistress coldly countered. “The entire space where the spell leads is coated with a thin layer of witchbane. They'd be powerless and easy prey for me and my forces.”

“Not if Aaron has anything to say about it.” Marseilles pointed out. “Good fucking luck countering him.”

“Now why would I do that?” the mistress inquired, putting her left hand on her chin that still remained hidden in the cowl. “It's because of him that I hatched this plan in the first place.”

The lieutenant's eyes widened. “What?!” she gasped. “You did this to have him come here?! Why?!”

The mistress stopped circling and paused in front of her, angling the cinquedea just enough for Hanna to see the lower part of her face in the metal, the thin lips curled in a cruel smile. “You'll find out soon enough my dear and you'll see what I have in store for him and his future with me.”

*************

The wounded private's painfully sucked in his breath as the bandage was applied to the nasty gash across his left shoulder. “Fuck me doc, can you make it hurt less?” he hissed, wincing like he just drank a gallon of lemon juice.

“It was you own damned fault for assuming that she wasn't armed. Don't you remember you training? They always have knives on them. Besides, this should hurt like a bitch. That's how you know it's healing.” the medic, a sergeant replied.

 _Whatever you say. That cunt got me real good. Another quarter inch deeper and I'd be a box job. The moment she get turned, I'm going to find out where she's bunked and give her a gash she'll never forget._ “I know stocks are low doc, but do you mind giving me some morphine for this pain?” the private asked. He didn't look behind him to see if the medic complied with his request, his mind stuck on how to get back at that enemy witch that had arrived not even five minute before. He adjusted his position in his chair, scratching an itch on the back of his neck. Then his ears picked up the footsteps of the unappreciated medic and some rummaging in a bag. As much as he could manage given the circumstances, the private cracked a small smile, but that quickly disappeared upon feeling a spray of something wet all across his upper back. Irritated, the private used his right hand to wipe whatever moisture was on him and angrily retorted as he moved his hand back to face to look at it, “When I said give me some morphine, I wanted it in a-.” The man's eyes widened in shock and fear and the ire vanished as he saw on his right hand still warm blood. He started trembling, the whole body shaking like Jello and a series of incoherent words bubbled out of his throat as he turned around. Lying face down in a pool of his own blood was the medic, the crimson lake getting bigger and bigger as his vitae poured out. Frantically, the private's eyes scanned the area to see if the attacker was still around. Despite making a careful sweep, no one could be found, an unnerving conclusion to say the least.

“Hey there son.” a masculine voice remarked from his front. The private whipped his head around, the sudden statement making him begin to cry out. Not even a fraction of a second later and the scream abruptly stopped and a searing lance of pain could be felt along his windpipe. The hands went up instinctively, the lips and jaw moving and the lungs straining to draw in some breath to make any kind of sound. Nothing else came out except something warm and fluid all over the private's hands and arms. He started get tired and the foggy brain started to piece together what had happened. _I just got my throat slit. But by whom and from... where..._

Aaron, invisible all the while, searched his pockets for a rag in silence as the man's life left him, his katana dripping blood onto the floor. He found one and started to gauge his surroundings as he wiped the blade. From what he could gather, he was in some sort of large stone chamber with only one exit and no entrance lit by several torches in sconces off on either side of the far walls. On the ground where he had appeared, was a wide mandala like design carved into the rock, the design of the runes and shapes utterly alien, but strangely familiar to Divale. From the low light cast by the torches, the warlock could make out veins of witchbane inlayed into various points on the walls and floor, spaced out to be sure, but more than enough to suppress a witch's power. There were no pillars supporting it and the air was not stale, leading him to believe that he was not that far underground. _That is if I am underground._ “Only two guards.” he mused softly as he cast the bloody rag aside. “Must be running short of bodies.”

“They'll certainly be running much lower after this.” Ismenoth quipped, her body absent, but her face flecting from the metal of his katana. “I have a bead on the kraut. She's three hundred feet down Go forwards and you'll probably find some stairs.”

Aaron briskly walked towards and through the exit, holding his sword out in front of him, eyes peeled for enemies. “Can you tell if she's been indoctrinated yet?” he inquired.

“Not from what I can figure, but I wouldn't trust my judgment on that.” Ismenoth reported.

Divale cocked his eyebrows and pressed his back against the wall as he neared a four corners. +I think that's the most honest thing you've said to me in years.+ he subvocalized.

+Oh if you like that, here's another little chestnut for you: I think this whole plan has FUBAR written all over it.+ the fiend commented. +You should've just ignored the tears and held firm. Risking your life to save one person is stupid and you know it. You have no backup and you're balls deep in enemy territory with not many clear avenues of escape that don't entail pushing yourself to the limits of what you can do.+

+Regardless, I'm getting her out.” the warlock countered, peeking around the walls to get a look. The left and right continued to go for another sixty feet before making matching T sections while right in front of him stretched for hundreds of feet with every forty feet turning into yet another four corners, torches every twenty feet or so the only source of light. +Keep me posted on when I'm right over her.+ he demanded as he unfurled his wings and flew straight down the hallway at half speed lest he crack his head on a low hanging ceiling. Section after section flew on by, some of the other passageways leading to God knows where empty and some with guards on patrol or having conversations. Aaron paid them no mind as he searched in every direction for stairs or an elevator.

+You're just about there. Past that junction up ahead and look right.+ Ismenoth reported. Divale cruised past the junction and hovered in the air, searching intently. Almost immediately he saw a glimmer of hope, a recessed elevator door, a nearby torch making the shadows and light dance off the metal trim and porthole looking glass windows. Gazing through them, he could see nothing but an empty shaft, the elevator somewhere else. Numbers overhead were blinking from high to low, telling him that the lift was coming up. _Yet what floor am I on?_ +Look at the buttons on the right you dumbass.+ the fiend pointed out in an annoyed tone. The warlock did as he was instructed and saw the floor buttons on a small panel. Counting them, he figured out in a split second that the number two was missing, replaced with two arrows pointing to the left and right, the universal symbol for calling the elevator to him. He pushed it and waited impatiently for the lift to come, his free hand flexing into and fist and relaxing repeatedly. _Come on you slow fucking bitch, get up here!_ A few tense seconds later, the top part of the elevator came into view through the glass windows and Aaron felt relief. It didn't last long for as the interior started to come into focus, he could see two people inside. Knowing what he had to do, he took a step back and prepared to lunge into the lift as soon as the doors opened. Through the doors, he could hear the braking mechanisms activate and the lift bounce as the cables pulled taut. Muscles bunched up and adrenaline gushed into his bloodstream as Divale licked his lips in anticipation. A moment went by and the doors opened, revealing two guards in the middle of some sort of conversation that would never be finished for he leapt forwards and swung horizontally with the katana. The steel cut through air and neck with ease, crimson spurting out of the fatal wounds and the power behind the swing sending even more off to the sides of the elevator interior. He reached out when he got inside, grabbed the corpses, and situated them off to the right side as much as possible to hide them.

+Okay now,+ he quipped as he sheathed the sword, +where to from here?+ His eyes darted over to the main panel and gave each number a cursory glance. _7...8...9...10 total. How deep should we go? Take a breath and think Aaron. If every floor is roughly thirty feet down, it stands to reason that then tenth should be where she is. Still, what if I'm wrong?_

+Tick tock Aaron.” Ismenoth nagged. _Fuck it! Go for broke!_ Aaron pressed the number ten and the doors closed. Once they did, the brakes were released and the elevator started to go down. Leaning against the siding, he did his best to calm himself, to clear his mind and think about all the possible scenarios that he could face.

+This elevator can't possibly be the only way in or out of whatever room Hanna's in.” he muttered to himself.

+Gee, you thought of that all by yourself?+ the demonness scornfully retorted. +No shit they'll have another way out. There's this wonderful invention that just came out called stairs. You should really try them sometime.+

+I know that bitch.+ Divale fired back. +If they didn't, it would be easy for-+ His train of thought stopped as his brain jumped forwards and formed several theories that weren't there before. +Speaking of easy, it's been eerily so since I got here. Little guard presence in the main chamber, few if any on patrol. A place where they indoctrinate witches should be teeming with the bastards.+

+Then it should behoove you to be cautious.+ Ismenoth deduced. There was a pause and she added, +Looks like your guess paid off my dear. Angle is getting lower and lower. After you get out of here, it's three hundred feet straight ahead.+

The warlock simply took in the intelligence, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. _Please don't let me be too late. I don't know what I'll tell Raisa if I am._ The elevator lurched slightly upwards, letting him know that the brakes were being applied. Unsheathing his katana, he held it in his right hand out in front of him, already thinking that he was going to have to use it once he left the lift. Then the doors opened and Aaron immediately jumped out like he was a kernel of popcorn in an uncovered frying pan, head spinning this way and that searching for targets. Amazingly, not a single person was around, but he was taking no chances, keeping the sword clutched firmly in his hand. Looking around, he found himself in what looked to be a small room, very similar in size to a antechamber, but without the charming warm atmosphere or comfortable furnishings. Instead there were heavy chains and manacles off in the right corner and large holding pens resembling dog kennels off on the far left wall with huge thick padlocks and bars. Three stone slabs were off to his right, all three stained with a deep red that his sense of smell recognized as blood. Across the way a good sixty feet or so was a barred wooden door. On top of one of them was a uniform top that he knew very well. He walked towards the block and picked up Hanna's clothing. _It's still warm._ Divale stowed it away in his backpack and readied his machine gun, pulling the bolt back slowly as to not make too much sound.

Ready to go, the warlock moved out to the door on the double, his keen eyes checking for traps or other means of alarming those who might be on the other side. Seeing nothing of the sort, he slowed down, sheathed his blade, and reached out with his left hand to shift the bars that held the door closed. They moved easily and after testing the knob could tell that it was fully unlocked. Degree by degree, Aaron turned the knob listening carefully for the latch. Though not even a mouse could hear him doing this, his ears made every grind and squeak sound loud enough to wake the dead. A split second later and the knob refused to budge, the end reached. Assuming that he was going to be ambushed, Divale went pushed open the door, following closely and keeping the machine gun tucked into his chest so no one would grab it. The hinges made no sound as he continued past the threshold and after checking the right and center could detect no threats. Sidestepping around, he held the gun up and peered down the sights at his left. Again, not a soul was found and he couldn't help but get very nervous about the situation. _Well this isn't good. No guards, no traps, no alarms. This is too good to be true. Be cautious Aaron._

Taking stock, he saw that he was in a massive room, thirty foot tall load bearing pillars so thick and spread out that they looked like a forest of gray deadwood trees and the torches illuminating spaces casting low light in corners that even the warlock himself found difficult to discern. With the possibility of danger lurking behind any pillar, he crouched walked stealthily among the supports, weaving like a threaded needle this way and that at odd non repeating angles as to hide his movements. Every sense was on high alert and Aaron felt his sweat dribbling down his neck. As he got further in the room, he could see that the density of the pillars was decreasing and a very bright light could be seen in what he could only guess was the middle of the room. +Watch it there moth,+ Ismenoth subvocalized, +don't get too close to the flame.+ Divale hardly heard the warning, his focus so intent that it blocked out the sounds of her voice. He pressed up against a pillar and took a quick peek around. Not far away was a stone dais where at the top was Marseilles, her nearly naked frame chained up and secured by manacles bolted into the rock, the head leaning forward. Despite the distance and the fact that her long blond hair obscured much of her body, he could see her chest move rhythmically. _She's breathing! She's alive!_ Throwing all thoughts of stealth away, the warlock unfurled his wings and took off like a champion race horse towards the witch. _It takes time for a spell to go off. If I can get in and out in less than a second or two, I'll be fine. I'll just use my wings to cut the chains and we'll be off._

Somehow, someway, the lieutenant sensed that something was approaching and looked up just in time to see the warlock race through the air. Hanna's eyes went wide and she screamed while pulling at the chains that bound her, “No Aaron! It's a trap!” The entire room lit up as if the biggest searchlight was turned on overhead, the luminosity close to blinding. Wincing in pain at the sudden change, Aaron had no choice but to momentarily halt in order to adjust. However, that pause was all the spell needed to go off without a hitch and long red beams shot out from the pillars at angles that made no sense, crossing from column to column within seconds, the air thick with the smell of ozone and a dull froom sound. One of the beams sped on past him, coming within a inch of his face and Divale could now see that it wasn't a single thread of light at all but a long wall stretching from floor to ceiling. Before he could react, more and more started to appear all around him, fencing him off from Marseilles. _No! I will not be denied!_ Angry at being temporarily thwarted, the warlock beat his fists at the wall of arcane energy, but the aetheric power holding it in place was strong, much stronger that what he could summon up. Not giving up, he placed his palms on the thrumming wall, the magic uncomfortably warm to the touch, and intoned, “Conlidam.” Coruscating purple bolts emanated from the tips of his fingers and went to work in drilling into the wall to force an opening. Concentrating, Aaron pushed and pushed, lips and jaw taut as he fought. Hanna watched in fear yet hoping against all hope that he'll succeed.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the walls rotating and tilting in all directions, some merging and others vanishing without a trace as the circled around them like a pack of wolves. Divale saw what was happening and his mind quickly formed a conclusion. _A magic prison._ Not wanting to suffer the same fate as Marseilles, he turned his attention back to his work, projecting more force into his spell. Blood started to trickle out of the corners of his mouth, the burden of continuing and strengthening the incantation eclipsing the usual cost. “They're coming in Aaron!” Hanna called out. “Do something!”

“I know!” the warlock shouted back, spitting a long stream of crimson onto the stone floor. _Fucking hell this spell is powerful! I can't even crack this thing! Come on Aaron, come on!_ More and more, he pushed himself, but nothing worked and the wall of energy held firm and resolute. Frustrated, Aaron kicked the aetheric barrier with his right leg, the impact jarring. Suddenly, the wall apparently had had enough of being pushed around and decided to push back. Both witch and warlock could do nothing but watch as the barrier came at him at breakneck speed. Instead of sending him ass over teakettle backwards, it passed through his form, the solid energy becoming incorporeal in an a flash. It was at that point that something happened that neither Aaron or Hanna would ever forget for as long as they lived. As soon as the red magic went past the outstretched finger, a shrill scream of agony came out of nowhere, the wail piercing mind, body, and soul. It shocked Aaron to the point of canceling the spell and tucking in his wings, his body crashing into the ground. He didn't even register the pain as the realization of who was screaming dawned on him. _Ismenoth._ The cries got louder and louder and something moved in his periphery. Strangely afraid of what he was going to see, Divale turned his head towards the sounds origin and gasped. Struggling like a caught squirrel being clutched by a pair of hands was Ismenoth herself, her sallow form being pulled out his body against her will, pitch black eyes wide with dread.

“Aaron!” the fiend bellowed, reaching out with her left hand. “Help me! I can't fight it! Help!” Though her loathed her with every fiber of his being, her plea did not reach deaf ears and Aaron thrust his right hand forwards. Yet again, events conspired against him and his hand glanced off the barrier. With no aid forthcoming, Ismenoth continued to writhe in pain as inch by gut wrenching inch, the magic extracted her from the warlock, heat steam rising from her body. The scene went on and one until the two were fully separated from each other, the walls of their aetheric prisons forming a triangle around them.

“You alright?!” Divale called out.

“I guess.” Ismenoth croaked out, woozy and feeling the urge to vomit as she got to her feet. “Nice job Captain Idiot. You've got us in the exact same mess as the kraut. Now what do we do?”

“What do you do indeed.” a feminine voice replied. All three prisoners turned to regard this new arrival. The light in the room dimmed and Aaron's eyes adjusted in time to see a lone figure, cloaked from head to foot and hooded, walk around a pillar and look squarely at them all. She held a cinquedea in her left hand, spinning the blade with her long fingers, head off to the side as if contemplating what to do next.

Aaron's brow furrowed as he gazed at the woman, craning his neck this way and that to see if her could catch a glimpse of her face. Finding his courage, he asked, “Who are you?”

The shrouded woman came up the steps of the dais and stopped right in front of the trio, looking over each one in turn before answering, “I am the mistress.” She glanced over at the warlock and added, “It's been a long time since I last saw you Aaron Divale.”

At first, Aaron was taken aback at this person knowing his name, but he regained his composure. _She probably knew of me through intelligence reports._ “I think you're mistaken. I don't know you and I'm quite certain that we've never met.” he stated.

The mistress moved close to his magical cell, her hidden face not so much as meeting his gaze. Her shoulders sagged as she sighed sadly, head shaking to and fro. “Oh no Aaron. Rather it is you that are mistaken. You just don't know it yet. I shouldn't be too surprised by your reaction. After all, you only knew me for a short time back in Italy.” she lamented.

Ismenoth leaned forwards as much as her prison would allow and commented, “Your voice sounds familiar. Who are you really?”

The mistress turned and replied scornfully, “I'm amazed that a demon such as you could possibly forget me, especially after what you did to me and mine.”

The demonness' onyx orbs flashed with recognition and she backed away to the far wall, shaking her head violently in disbelief and wordlessly mouthing 'no' over and over. Aaron saw this and hastily inquired, “Who is she Ismenoth?! How does she know me and you?!”

“You have grown so much Aaron.” the mistress remarked as she looked at him once more, her voice oddly soft and kind. “You've certainly become a fine young man. Much of your father I see in and without you. You inherited his chin, his sense of duty, and his tactical acumen. However,” Here she paused, clasped the fringes of her hood, and pulled it back over her head. When it was all said and done, what stood before all was a woman in her late thirties or early forties, short shoulder length dark hair in a ponytail tied with a red ribbon. The face had a leventine complexion, a light brown yellow similar to ochre and she had the faintest of wrinkles about the cheeks and forehead, the passage of time not too ravaging. Her eyes were closed for but a moment, but once the hood was off, she opened them and finished, “you've certainly inherited my eyes.” Three collective breaths left three lungs as Hanna, Aaron, and Ismenoth saw that the mistress' eyes glowed a vibrant molten bronze. Tears formed on the corners of the woman's all too familiar looking orbs and she said, voice nearing breaking, “What have they done to you my son?”

The reactions from the bewildered onlookers were varied and immediate. Ismenoth's eyes widened in terror and recognition, head shaking violently to and fro while mouthing the word 'no' repeatedly, cold sweat forming on her face and neck. Hanna could do little but look over at Aaron, hoping that what she was saying wasn't true, that this was all a misunderstanding or that she misheard what was said. As for the warlock, he was struck dumb, his posture rigid and orbs locked onto the mistress's own. He barely breathed in the dead silence that followed the revelation, the quiet so oppressive that his ears could pick up four distinct heartbeats with little difficultly. All this from just the last two words the woman spoke, a simple monosyllable possessive pronoun followed by a noun that should be easy to mentally process. However, Divale's brain couldn't wrap itself around them at all. It was like trying to wrestle fog to the ground and pin it in place. After a long minute that seemed to drag on for eternity, the deafening silence was shattered by Ismenoth who found her voice and raised her right arm, long fingers pointing like daggers at the woman and snapped, “That's impossible! You're dead! I saw your body in Italy! There's no way you could've survived the attack!”

The mistress cracked a sly smile and reached into her voluminous black cloak and pulled up a thin silver chain. “I was forewarned of the plot against us and protected from your prying eyes.” she replied proudly as she brought the object of her protection into full view. Held by a small black iron ring was a small medallion, thin as a communion wafer and as big around as a tea cup, covered with intricately etched symbols in a language that none save for two could decipher.

The fiends jet eyes regarded the mysterious talisman and began to chuckle. “Should've known that his feelings for you would've got in the way. Clever. So who was it then? Some random colleague of yours that was in the wrong place at the right time? Or was it someone else entirely?” she inquired. The mistress said nothing, her face betraying no emotion as she turned away, but Ismenoth knew better than to rely on one set of tells. Her brow furrowed and she cocked her head to the side, searching and piecing the information together. A few seconds later, the demonness nodded in understanding. “It was someone else wasn't it? Had to have been pretty close to you for you to keep mum about it? Let me guess... Claudia?” she pressed. The mistress shifted in place barely a fraction of an inch, but Ismenoth picked up on it just like that. “And you did it, didn't you Aadila?” she queried with a cruel smile on her face.

“What are you two talking about?!” Marseilles blurted out, her confusion and fear getting the best of her. “How do you know her?! Who is Claudia?!” She whirled her head around at Aaron who was now just beginning to stir from his statuesque stupor and called out, “Get us out of here Aaron! Use everything you got and get us out of here!”

“It wouldn't do any good you dumb cow!” Ismenoth shouted. “That requires me to be within him and guess where I am?! Not in him, that's what! There's nothing we can do! The cunt has us all by the balls!”

“You're damn right I do.” Aadila cockily proclaimed, her bronze eyes alight with excitement. “How does it feel to be helpless once again you bitch?”

Aaron's mind came back to reality and something within him broke. Breathing in deeper than he ever thought possible, he let loose a bloodcurdling scream of agony and sadness. “Enough!” he bellowed in a voice so loud that the walls of the aetheric prison shook as if affected by an earthquake. That brought the room to silence once again, punctuated by his heavy breathing after exhaling so hard. He looked at the woman who declared him her own and asked between breaths, “You (huff) are my (huff) mother?”

Aadila's eyes softened, the fiery blaze dimming down to a low glow. “Yes I am Aaron and I always will be.” she answered.

Divale closed his eyes and tears started flowing down his face and made Hanna nervous, the sight coming uncomfortably close to confirming her worst fears. “Those are lies!” she spat out. “Beside your eyes, you have no concrete proof that you're his mother!”

Aadila didn't so much as pay the lieutenant any mind, her accusations not registering. Instead, she reached into her cloak again and took out a small folded piece of paper and began to unfold it carefully. “This has been with me for many years,” she explained as her fingers went to work, “and I hoped that this would've been the beginning of a happy family.” As she finished her sentence, she took the paper and pressed it against the wall of Aaron's prison so that he could see. It in fact was picture, a very old and faded photograph that was pockmarked, stained, and faded with the passage of time that depicted a much younger Aadila holding a swaddled newborn in her lithe arms as laid in bed. He scrutinized the infant closely, analyzing every feature on the tiny face. His hands went up to his own, feeling and pressing into the skin and bone. This process of self discovery went on for many tense seconds, Aaron's hands moving all about his face. Soon, they started to slow down, then shake, and finally drop limply to his sides as Aaron collapsed to the stone floor, the weight of the truth too much for his body to bear. More tears flowed down his cheeks and his lips trembled as he began to weep. The sight was heart wrenching to the extreme and not even Ismenoth could stand to look at him. Despite it all, Aadila continued to look on and stand by the magic cell, finally being the mother that she should've been eighteen years ago. As he cried his soul out, Divale tried to stop. _This woman is my mother? This woman who has caused all this pain and suffering for me and my friends is the one who brought me into this world? Wait... who's my father?_ That question stilled the sobbing and he looked again at the photograph. His eyes looked over the the left of the picture where next to Aadila was a man, one that Divale saw only briefly, one that he had hated with all his heart for what he brought down upon his friends and Lucretia. _Trevor Maloney!_

“Trevor Maloney was my father?” the warlock murmured, the words barely escaping from his mouth.

“At that time he was,” Aadila replied sadly, the pain of the past coming back, “yet his love his country far eclipsed that of his family. It grieved me a great deal when I learned about his death.” She then took the photo away from the wall and put it back inside wherever she produced it. “Did you see him before he died? And if so, what did he say?” she asked.

“I most certainly did and he said these words: When I helped free you and the rest of your kind after Operation Yuletide, I thought I’d never see you or anyone else from that horrible experiment again. You have no idea how overjoyed I was when I learned that you made it off the continent alive and were living right in my backyard. I’ve done terrible things to countless people since then, but I have done one thing that I’m proud of. Out of all those young men that were liberated from Project Reciprocity, you and you alone were my greatest achievement and contribution to this war. It was an honor to see you again Aaron Divale. Goodbye.” Aaron recollected.

Aadila looked away for an instant, digesting her former lover's last words on earth. “Somehow I knew deep down that he was proud of you and loved you.” she remarked.

“And what about you?” Divale inquired, springing up to his feet. “Why was I abandoned? Didn't you want me?”

“Of course I did Aaron. I loved you with all my heart. I would've given anything to keep you with me.” Aadila answered, nearly coming to tears. She then gave an venomous glare in Ismenoth's direction before adding, “But someone stole you from me.”

Undeterred by the burrowing stare down, the fiend countered, “Now now Aadila. You and I both know that's not how it happened. You gave him to me, remember?”

“You lied to me!” Aadila shouted, going up to the demonness' prison and getting up close and personal with the barrier. “You said you would allow the project to continue in exchange for my son and you betrayed me and everyone else! Because of you I had to murder Claudia to cover my tracks! That blood is on your hands!”

“Don't get all worked up now you absentee mother of the century. I kept my end of the bargain word for word. Wasn't my fault that you accepted the agreement without discussing for how long it was to be in effect in the first place.” the fiend calmly retorted.

The warlock took this all in and regarded his mother with a stern look, his jaw taut with a slow burning anger. “Is this true?” he queried, his hands balling up into fists.

Aadila blinked once, twice, three times before admitting, “I couldn't let her jeopardize the project. It had to go on for the sake of humanity. You must understand that I was-” Aaron had heard enough and slammed both his fists into the barriers that contained him, the impact sending hard bangs echoing throughout the chamber, abruptly cutting the confession short.

“Understand what?!” Aaron roared. “Understand that you gave me over to a demon?! To have your flesh and blood become a weapon and her plaything?! Understand that you created this mess that I've been spending the better part of three fucking months cleaning up and seeing my friends suffer and die?! Why did you do it mother?! Why are you doing this?! Why damn you, why?!”

Aadila took in a deep breath and put away the dagger, tucking it into her right sleeve. She stood there for a few moments, completely still and staring intently at the stone floor in deep thought, the reasons and justifications for her crimes coming to the fore. Blinking once, she regarded her son and began the tale. “Magic and its usage has been a part of the human race since the very beginnings of civilization, maybe even longer, yet for the longest time, we merely thought of magic as a means to an end, a tool or resource that can be exploited for some sort of gain. History is replete with such follies as wiping out enemies in battle, healing ones true love,sequestering dangerous knowledge of spells and incantations, and all manner of nonsensical motives that limited our true understanding of what magic is. It has only been within the last four hundred years that the most brilliant of minds gathered their collective courage and pushed the boundaries of our knowledge of the aether. Many theories concerning aetheric stabilization, generation, and projection provided the basis of many fields of study that sparked many an invention to benefit humanity such as the communicators you use, lighting, even the Striker unit. While all fine and dandy, this yet again fell into the old means to an end cliché.

As you know, magic runs within the planet along what we call laylines. These function as a river of aetheric energy that transports and disperses this force. By the mid eighteenth century, a small mysterious group of scientists known to history as The Oddfellows, made two radical breakthroughs. From delving into the ebbs and flows of aetheric energies within the earth, they found that magic went along not just one set of laylines but two. This second layline carried within it darker polluted magic that ran parallel to the first, one that contained non polluted magic. The discovery confirmed previous hypotheses that stated that the reasons why creatures of legend existed and still exist in parts of the world was that they were exposed to these dark energies, including warlocks. In addition, they also found a curious phenomenon where the dispersal of magic was balanced out at points within both sets of laylines they called nodes. Through a combination of mathematics and geology, they ascertained that these nodes were evenly spread out all over the world, even under the oceans, and pinpointed each and every single one with an accuracy previously unheard of, one that even today's scientists still struggle to match.

All this was wildly received by the scientific community and they gained many a wealthy patron that funded their research. Over time, The Oddfellows became the preeminent aetheric studies institute and founded many branches all over the world. However, as quickly as they rose, they fell into ruin within the span of a generation. The principal reason for that was the gaia theory, the notion that the planet itself was a living entity that was no different from us in terms of wants and desires. That and that alone made The Oddfellows persona non grata and they were laughed out of learned circles. Since their demise, their research largely fell into obscurity, serving no purpose beyond the random eclectic college thesis paper. Still, various branches continued to experiment and slowly uncovered that light and dark magic worked in tandem with one another and that the absence of one or the other will cause laylines to shift and the nodes to travel further up or downstream, causing issues with using or the very nature of magic at these new locations. They called this discovery aetheric homeostasis, a theory that was proved true after the extinction of the warlocks after the Napoleonic Wars and the creation of The Sentinel.”

“What does the extinction of the warlocks have to do with this shift?” Divale inquired.

“Just as creatures in nature have a purpose in sustaining an environment without the aid of humans, so too did the earth have its tools.” Aadila clarified. “Have you not had the slightest inkling that warlocks and witches were doing more than fighting?”

The warlock's brow furrowed and he placed his right hand under his chin. “Are you insinuating that both sides were in charge of maintaining this balance?” he conjectured.

“Absolutely.” Aadila affirmed, nodding her head. “They were the living personifications of our immune systems, the planets defense mechanism lest the powers that be cause untold damage. Whenever one side seemed too powerful, the earth would release the magic through aetheric eruptions via geysers or volcanoes. However, the witches went too far and wiped the warlocks out, destroying this much needed balance and creating a further check on it, which then resulted in giving the planet no means to discharge these pent up energies. Unbeknownst to many, save for a chosen few, these dark laylines began to swell and swell, pushing the nodes further and further away towards one location: Moscow.” Aaron's eyes bugged out as his mind jumped to a terrifying conclusion and his mother caught it. “Now you're starting to connect the dots son. Now, you're starting to see and understand what I once told Matilda long ago. Though the warlocks were dead and gone to dust, the planet created its own version, a brand new check. The Neuroi are not invaders, they are defenders. All of them have been charged with the sacred mission to restore the balance by any means necessary. Humanity can fight all it wants, they can destroy ever single nest they come across, but to no avail. They'll never stop coming and our children and our children's children will never know peace.” Here she paused and pointed at Aaron and then Ismenoth with the cinquedea before adding, “That was the true purpose behind Operation Reciprocity since its inception, to recreate the warlocks and have them be the instrument of our salvation, but we were too late.”

“So how then did recreating the warlocks turn into this?” Divale asked, moving his hand back towards the entrance he came in.

“It happened shortly after I arrived in Tunis many years ago, brokenhearted and thwarted. I knew from ancient records that there was a old abandoned witch stronghold used during the times of the Moorish conquests so I went there and made shelter as best I could. Didn't have much time to get out of Rome before the attack so there wasn't much I had on me and I looked around to see if there were some simple essentials like fresh water. After a bit of searching I found a small basin that was fed by an underground spring. Thirsty, I dipped my hands into the water and drank eagerly, but on the second go around, my hands touched something hard and the whole container began to glow red. I was afraid of what I had found, but I needed it out of my drinking water so I reached in with both my hands and pulled it out. To my great surprise and horror I had found a Neuroi core, but not just any run of the mill core. It was the core of a hive. Then, the entire chamber filled with swirling shadows, my tampering causing a reaction. The tempest threw me backwards, making me lose my grip on the core, but instead of falling it merely hovered in place and rotated. Spellbound I watched as the shadows wrapped around the object, dousing the glow for a bit as it took form. Before long, I came face to face with an almost picture perfect Neuroi in the guise of a human being, the red core shining brightly on its chest. Though it had no eyes to speak of, it looked at me and reached out with its right hand as if to help me up. That was when I heard a deep, old, and oddly sympathetic voice enter my ears. It told me everything that had happened and what was going to happen in the coming days, months, and years. Not wanting to accept it, I started crying out of desperation and implored it to stop this war, that there had to be another way, that the balance could be restored peacefully. The Neuroi then walked closer to me and sat down on the ground next to me. It answered that humanity would never accept the truth willingly, that they had to be forced to open their hearts and ears, to listen to the realities of what the witches had done to the world. I was commended for my efforts to affect a change and it offered me a compromise. If I would help them in their endeavors, I would be able to join with it and be given the means to save us all.” Aadila replied. She then took her hands, grabbed the fabric around her neck, and pulled down her cloak, showing to all the tip of an embedded Neuroi core, glowing a dull ruby red.

Marseilles, who up to this point was stunned to silence, suddenly found her voice and railed, “Given the means to save us all?! What are you talking about?! What I've seen out there is far from saving anyone! Do you realize what kind of dark bargain you were getting into!? You sacrificed your humanity, betrayed our species! All my friends were turned by you into monsters and I was forced to kill them! Peace is meant to free people not enslave them as you have done!”

“I am truly sorry for what you had to do lieutenant,” Aadila apologized, “but peace, true peace, is never achieved without a cost. Considering the alternative, I'd rather live in a scarred but still thriving world where we can coexist side by side rather be penned up like animals, forced to relocate to distant lands that aren't our own, to never gaze upon our homelands ever again. I wish more of you were like Matilda, I wish that you could've listened to my words and all of this wouldn't have been necessary.”

“Repentant yet resolute in your mission.” Ismenoth chimed in. The demonness looked over at Aaron and jested, “Sounds familiar doesn't it?”

Aadila glared at the fiend and hissed, “We aren't the only ones. You have been scheming to take my child's soul for your own and have done terrible things over the years in order to do it.”

Aaron grew very suspicious and looked over at Ismenoth inquiring, “What is she talking about? What have you done?”

The arms of the demonness crossed over the ample chest and she turned her nose up at the warlock. “I have no idea what she's talking about.” she obstinately declared.

“Well if you won't talk about it,” Aadila stated, raising her right arms and splaying out her fingers, “the I'll show you. E xpellunt memorias.” Between her fingers, the very fabric of reality seemed to bend and twist, an invisible energy that warped the space around the digits. Ismenoth's hard stance crumbled to nothing in an instant and she backed away as far as she could, looking for some way out of the trouble she found herself in, but she was too slow, the spell catapulting from Aadila's hand, breaching the aetheric barrier without so much as a crack, and burrowing like a gopher into the fiend's chest, making her clutch her ribs and howl in pain. From his cell, Divale could hear the snapping of bone and sinew and the fleshy wet sloshing of organs being moved around. All the while, the demonness screamed, sinking to her knees as the spell did its work. Then she started to convulse, the throat and stomach rythmically twitching in unison. The warlock could plainly tell that she was going to vomit any second and instinctively got out of the way, though he didn't need to. After several agonizing seconds of holding back the rising throes of nausea, the floodgates burst and Ismenoth's mouth opened wide. However, instead of partially digested food and bile, out came tendrils of purple smoke that dipped into the stone and came up in front of Aaron's prison. “Behold son,” his mother preached, the thin urple lines expanding rapidly into thick bars, “behold and know the extent of her nefarious plotting.”

Images flashed within the purple haze, forming pictures of places and people that the warlock clearly recall from his past, but the perspective was different, looking more like a third person view of the scenes that played out over his eyes. In one, Ismenoth stood in front of a very young looking Trevor Maloney, the man he now knew as his father, eyes aghast in fear and terror as the fiend's mouth moved silently, giving some sort of speech. Another depicted the insides of a massive complex, barrels of explosives being carefully placed by a pair of sallow hands with tapered nails as the rest of Ismenoth's figure ducked behind a low wall, just barely evading a pair of individuals that Aaron knew were the scouts he sent inside the Polesti oil refinery. A third panned outside of a cockpit, the glass slathered in blood for but a moment until a hand wiped away a section in order to see. A pair of black eyes framed by a grinning yellow face and vemon green hair glowed with malicious intent as the view shifted behind the craft, a mortally stricken bomber. Slowly it began to descend, aiiming right for a small clearing in a vast woods. Goosebumps pricked up and down Divale's arms as he beheld another scene, that of a sillohuete of a tall being reaching into a burning pyre and pulling out what looked to be another person, unmoving and aflame. The jaw then opened wide and the new arrival disappeared down a hungry gullet. It was over quick and the being began to chuckle, a cruel chortling that could only come from the mouth of a demon. It then coughed and a hand reached into the mouth, whisking out a small thin strip of something that got caught in the teeth. In yet another, Ismenoth stood next to another individual from the past, that of Helga's father, whispering into his ear some dark secrets, all with a sly smile. Next came the towering structure of Notre Dame herself, the church shrouded in night. All was still save for a single figure that weaved in and around the stone gargoyles, a yellow skinned arm gently carving small runes into the backs of the necks. Finally, the very last of them showed a gutwrenching memory that Aaron had spent the greater part of his adult life in repressing. It showed a young version of himself on his hands and knees upon a bloodstained slab of stone, an alter where two copies of Ismenoth were situated at his head and rump. The duo were raping him mercilessly, his arms and legs unable to pry them away, the strength to resist gone, laughing all the while.

A flash of brilliant violet later and the memories vanished, leaving all that that looked upon them speechless. Hanna looked over at Aaron whose eyes drifted down to the dais floor, his face expressionless, looking as if he'd just witnessed something he wasn't supposed to know. Then the lips began to purse, the jaw clenched vise tight, and the bronze orbs changed to jet black as the deepest seated anger emerged from his soul. The neck bones popped as his head turned to face Ismenoth, who now was trying to get back up to her feet. “You fucking cunt bitch.” he seethed through gritted teeth. “You were behind Operation Yuletide, Polesti, Larissa, Houska Castle, Notre Dame, all of it.” He then regarded his mother who had shown him the truth and his tone changed. “Please merge these prisons. Me and her need to have a personal heart to heart.” he demanded, his hands balling into fists so hard the knuckles cracked louder than gunshots.

“I'll do you one better my son.” Aadila countered. She then waved her left hand in the air off to her left side, sigils of orange aetheric energy coming into focus. Underneath the enchantment, a small stone column about three feet high poofed into being. At the top, covered by a thin rounded glass, was a tiny needle of dark iron. “This here is a nail of the true cross, this one the only one fully intact. Imbued with purifying divine essense, this object had the power to kill demons with but a prick from the tip.” she concluded, looking at Ismenoth all the while, seeing her quake with mortal terror. “I regret making you what you are Aaron and nothing I can say will ever make what I did right, but I want to make amends. I want you to be human, I want you to be the man that you deserve to be. I want you back with me where you belong. All you have to do is lay down your arms and help me save the human race. What say you?”

Lieutenant Hanna Justina Marseilles first could do nothing but stare aimlessly into the stone grouting of the dais, the revelations far too much for her mind to handle.  _What in the world is going on? The Neuroi were never the villians in this war, but we are? That can't be true... can it?_ Suddenly, her ears picked up the snapping of leather and the turned to see a very familiar scene play out before her eyes. Not truly believing what she was seeing, all Hanna could do was shake her head, mouth agape, as Aaron began to take his weapons off his person, the machine gun, the shotgun, the pistols, the antitank cannon, grenades, spare clips, even the knife in his boot. One by one he removed them, ejecting the magazines and racking the slides to expend the one preloaded round in the chamber. As he underwent the process of disarmament, Marseilles could see Ismenoth scared stupid and Aadila standing tall, face beaming with pride.  _No! It can't be!_ “Aaron!” she called out, straining at her bonds. “What are you doing?! Stop it! She's using you just like she did Matilda! Don't listen to her! You're only trading one devil for another!”

“The kraut is right!” Ismenoth chimed, adding her two cents into the pot. “Think of what you'll lose by following her! You'll never forgive yourself! You can't do this! The Aaron Divale I know would never allow himself to turn traitior and harm his friends!”

As resounding as the protests emanated from their mouths, nothing fazed the warlock who merely turned a deaf ear to their pleas and warnings, busying himself with falling from grace. The spring loaded knife in his right boot was the last of the weapons he laid down, placing them behind him, but giving his mother more than a good enough angle to see that he had no tricks up his sleeve. He looked down at his mother and placed both hands on the aetheric barrier. “Release me mother and tell me what I must do.” he intoned, every word the truth.

A shift of the eyes later and Aadila got rid of the magic wall containing her son. The two stood there for a good moment, looking deep into their matching orbs, mother and son reunited after eighteen years apart. Then, Aaron calmly walked down the dais steps and gave his sole surviving parent a hug, a gesture that was returned in kind. “Welcome back Aaron.” Aadila whispered in his ear as the too embraced. She let go of her grip and regarded Marseilles who was crying tears of heartbreaking loss and remarked, “She will be your first step on the road to true redemption my son.” Aadila then reached into her cloak and withdrew the  cinquedea once more, handing it to Aaron. “Do what must be done for the greater good and you'll soon have your revenge for all the wrongs they have done to us all.” she ordered.

Between sobs, Marseilles squirms and wrenched hard at the chains, straining her muscles to the limit in order to escape, desperately find a way out of the doom that was soon to fall upon her. Her blue eyes could see Aaron, her friend and protector, regard the knife in his right hand, his face reflecting off the steel blade, one that was cold and emotionless. Without delay, her turned on his heels and began to slowly walk back up the dais, each step measured as to invoke fear in her heart. The barrier to her prison vanished, giving him a clear avenue to her and the witch tried once more to reason with him. “Aaron, please don't! You know this isn't right! I don't want to be turned into one of those things! I don't want to fight and kill Raisa, Edytha, or anyone else in the squadron! Don't betray me Aaron! I've had enough of it! Please stop and think what you're about to do! Stop, please! Pl-Pl.” she implored, the last sentences not able to come out due to how much her voice was cracking.

Still Divale continued to move in, eyes never wavering from her own and face betraying no regret. Hanna started to tremble, her limbs unable to compose themselves, and her crying ended. He reached out with his left hand and took her by the jaw, his fingers wrapping up to her cheek bones, and simply stared into her eyes with a soul piercing gaze, bringing the dagger up over her chest. “What do you see in front of your face?” he asked, the monotone terrifyingly strange.

With quivering lips and staggered breath that she accepted would be her last as a human being, Marseilles squeaked out, “D-D-Death.”

Aadila stood by behind the pair, watching the reflections of her son's eyes bounce off the pupils of the witch.  _Do it son. Take your place at my side. Continue to do my-_ The thoughts abruptly ceased as she felt a sharp pain in her chest, making her wheeze hard. She looked down and her eyes widened as she saw a pen sicking out of her sternum.  _What! What is this! This wasn't supposed to happen! The vision- The vision..._

Aaron slashed with all his might at the chains with the cinquedea and managed to sever them with one blow. He caught the now partially free Marseilles with his left arm and lowered her onto the ground gently as he got on his haunches to work on the floor manacles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother collapse to her knees, looking dumbfounded at the pen, the sole potentially lethal object he kept on his person.  _She did say that I could be useful one day._ “You really thought that I wold join you mother dearest?” he mocked as the blade dug into the metal restraints. “Did you honestly believe that in exchange for my humanity that I would take it away from my friends?”

“Y-Your turn was f-foretold years ago when you w-were born.” Aadila forced out, blood pouring out of the mortal wound. “I had a vision of you next to me, standing tall and proud as a human being overlooking a crowd of people cheering your name and applauding your greatness.”

“No gratitude is worth that price, not even you.” Divale shot back, now halfway through cutting through Hanna's bonds. “The moment you gave me up to Ismenoth, you showed how much you valued me as a son.” The dagger snapped, the blade falling to the floor with a metallic clink and he frowned. Not giving up, he slammed the pommel on the cut he made and the manacle broke like a hollowed out eggshell, freeing the lieutenant entirely. Hanna hugged him in thanks and began to walk over to Aaron's cell, looking to pick up a gun for defense. He stood up to his full height and looked down at the dying Aadila who now was breathing harder and harder as crimson trickled down her chest and legs. “As far as I'm concerned, I have no mother.” he emphatically declared.

Aadila's body began to sway backwards, the loss of vitae making her lose control. She caught herself with her right arm and began to cry. “You're more like your father than I thought: a fool.” she sobbed.

“This fool will live on,” the warlock proclaimed, “free and able to live his life the way he chooses.” He then looked at the nail and then up at Ismenoth with a cruel smile. “And he'll be free from all fear of doing so.” he added, crooking his left index finger at her.

Knowing full well what he meant and that Aadila's concentration on the spell was fading fast, Ismenoth began to panic. “Aaron, listen to me. I understand you're upset, but stop and think for a second. You wouldn't have gotten this far without me and you know that. There's still plenty of war left to fight and you're going to throw away the sole trump card you have?” she reasoned. Then a portion of the barrier disappeared and that was all the opening that Aaron needed to pull her forward hard. “No! No! No!” she screamed, flailing her arms and legs out, trying to grab hold of anything. Nothing was in the vicinity and the demonness was brought to heel and made to get on her knees, head tilted up.

Divale then lifted the glass dome over the nail and held it like a sewing needle with two fingers on his right hand. He looked down at the fiend who had tormented him all his life, ruining it, killing his friends and the ones he loved, and laughed in a dark sadistic way as he looked deep into her onyx eyes. “I remember that look you're giving me right now Ismenoth. I've seen it many times from my enemies just moments before I ended their lives. You have no idea how satisfying it is to finally see that look on you.” he stated with relish. “Any last words before I send you to Hell where you belong?”

A phlegmy cough made him whip around and the warlock saw Aadila flat on her back, right arm raised and fingers splayed out, the last vestiges of her magic coruscating between the digits. “I made you son,” she choked out, blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth, “and I can destroy you. Anima mea fractus.”

Aaron was caught flatfooted in his moment of triumph and thus could do nothing to evade the crackling beam of energy that shot forth from his mother's hand. It struck him full on in the chest and knocked him up and over the dais, the nail flying out of his hand and hitting the floor, exploding into pieces upon impact. “Aaron!” Marseilles bellowed, running after him with a pistol in her left hand. She had to sprint for a good forty feet before she found him, his body unmoving and lying in front of a pillar, one that he had hit hard judging from how much of the support structure was on the floor. Crouching down, she checked for his pulse. It was there, but barely, making her less afraid, but still wary. Then, her ears picked up footsteps coming up behind her and she cocked the hammer to the gun and brought herself around, aiming down the sights. Approaching with intent was Ismenoth, grinning like a psychopath, licking her lips with excitement. “Stay back!” Hanna shouted. “Leave him alone!”

The demonness flicked her left hand to the side and the pistol was torn away from the witch's hand, leaving her naked and defenseless. “How about you stay back?” she countered, her voice making it clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer. “He has a check that I've been dying to cash and you're not going to stand in my way.” Once she was in arms reach she grabbed Marseilles by the hair and threw her aside like a rag doll in the opposite direction from where she sent the gun, the body hitting the stone hard and rolling for seven feet before it came to a stop. With nothing opposing her, Ismenoth crouched down and lifted Aaron's head with her left hand, gently shaking his skull. “Wake up sleeping beauty,” she cooed, “your prince is here to whisk you away.” At that moment, Aaron's eyelids fluttered and opened, his orbs lolling about. “Looks like you took a nasty hit there young man.” she observed, digging her nails into the nape of the neck, injecting a paralytic serum into his veins and removing his poison immunity at the same time. “Why don't you just stay like that for a spell why don't you?” As the world came into focus and stopped spinning, Divale immediately went into fight or flight mode, but his limbs wouldn't budge. He looked up at Ismenoth with indignation and spat in her face. The demoness chuckled, wiping away the vain attempt at resistance, and stated, “You want to know what she just did to you Aaron? Your very own mother destroyed all but one of the seals binding me to your will. That means that I don't need your permission to take your soul, I can simply pluck it out of you at any time.” She then placed her right hand against the warlock's chest and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “For what it's worth Aaron, I'm really going to miss you.” she jested. “So, do you have any last words before I send you to Hell?”

Aaron's reply was immediate. “Bring it on cunt. I hope you fucking choke on it.” he said. With that, Ismenoth pressed down, her hand going through the skin, but not breaking it, fingers searching for the object of her desires.  _Now if remember correctly, the soul should be right about-_ A searing pain shot up her arm and the fiend roared in agony, withdrawing her hand. A golden radiance arced along the wrist and fingers and the smell of ozone filled the surrounding air. She glared angrily down at Aaron who stared right back at her. A deep breath later, and the demoness composed herself. “Regardless, I will get what I want sooner or later. I won't be able to kill you as you well know, but I can still make you suffer and possibly make you do things against your will if I so choose.” she stated. The fiend then gave Divale a hug, her body entering into his. Before her head disappeared into his body, she gave him a sly wink and advised, “You win this fight, but in the end, I will win the war. See you around.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A choice is made.

_ **Chapter XXXI: Homeward Bound** _

_If I'm going to die, I'd rather die with friends at my side then die alone._

Diary Entry July 19 th 1944 

There was a time not so long ago that Marseilles really wouldn't have minded if Aaron had simply dropped off the face of the earth and was never seen again. When they first met, they were like cats and dogs with really short tempers, going back and forth with petty tit for tats. Now, two days after what had occurred in Tunis, she felt like she was losing her father all over again. For the past few minutes, Hanna had been outside Aaron's tent, waiting patiently to send him off on his way after packing his things. She shook her head and wondered if this was the right thing to let him do considering how compromised he was as well as contemplating recent events.

Though she was cast against a pillar, the witch was still conscious and saw and heard everything that was said between the warlock and the fiend. When she had the strength to move towards him, he looked like he was on deaths door, though there was no wound. It took a bit to get him up on his feet, but when he did, Divale immediately took charge of the situation as if nothing had happened, grabbing his weapons and getting her clothes back. He didn't so much as pay the corpse of his mother any mind as they went about it, the pain of betrayal averting his gaze. The pair ran out of the same path that he took getting to her all the way back to the place where he arrived. Using his magic, the warlock found a secret way out, a door cleverly disguised as a part of the stone wall. After prying it open, they saw dozens of lifeless enemy soldiers inside a small mess hall, face down in their food. The bodies were still warm meaning that they had died only recently. Venturing further and further on, searching for a way out, they came across more bodies, and more and more. It was surreal, like they had emerged from hiding during a plague of some kind only to see that they were the only ones left alive. Unnerving as it was, the duo pressed on until they eventually found the exit and took flight unopposed. Marseilles and Aaron then had a deep conversation about what had happened and mutually agreed that this had to be kept secret. If Allied Command got wind of this information, it would call into question the warlock's true role in the conflict and his loyalty. 

It didn't take them long to get back to the 31 st and they were greeted with raucous cheers from everyone, but none louder and thankful than Raisa who grabbed Hanna and refused to let go for a good five minutes. Edytha came by soon afterwards and took them to the generals to give a full account. Many questions and counter questions ensued for an hour at most. While that was going on, General Rommel got full reports from the front lines. Forward observers had witnessed the exact same thing that both Hanna and Aaron had, but they saw it happen with their own eyes. They all said the same thing: One second they were up and about and the next they clutched their hearts and keeled over dead and the Neuroi simply disintegrated. From that evidence, it was surmised that the destruction of the mistress's core was the key, her death causing a chain reaction that wiped out the foe in one swift stroke, the Neuroi included. However, Rommel and company weren't going to take any chances and vowed to launch a thorough investigation as they advanced, an inquiry that wouldn't feature the 31 st JFS Afrika who were told to stand down and await further instructions. While thankful for the time off to refocus, Marseilles found her days mirthless and her nights sleepless, her mind filled with terrible visions of Aaron getting consumed by Ismenoth, controlling his mind, body, and soul. Worse still, a letter arrived yesterday for Aaron, one written by Commander Wilcke herself, telling him that the squadron was being reformed and asking him to report to the new 501 st headquarters at Mount Conero.

Suddenly, the flap to the tent opened, and Divale popped out, his backpack full and his weapons holstered, the medals on his chest twinkling in the early morning sun. The two glanced at each other wordlessly until he said, “I guess this is it lieutenant.”

Hanna nodded and took a deep breath before asking, “Are you sure you're making the right call? By going back to the 501 st ?”

The warlock sighed, walked up to her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “There's nothing left for me here but sand and memories Hanna. You know that. If I stayed, what would we do? Go play whack a mole on whatever Neuroi nest they find? Maybe aid the locals in rebuilding their home?” He shook his head and let go of her. “It would be a waste. I go where the enemy is and the enemy is in Italy. Besides, I made a promise to them and I intend to keep it.” 

“I respect that you're a man of your word Aaron, but some promises are better off broken.” Marseilles countered. She placed her right hand on his chest and added, “Especially now. She's got the upper hand over you. Going there is going to put them in danger. I strongly think you should reconsider.”

Divale simply backed up, the palm of his soon to be ex superior finding nothing but hot desert air. “I've been reconsidering since yesterday, but every time I do, I come back to the same conclusion. I know what I'm getting into by doing this, the risks involved, and the possible consequences of my actions. You and I have come a long way since we first met and I want to see you get better. I want to continue being with everyone, but I have to go. This needs to be done for all our sakes.” he replied. The words, as meaningful as they were, seemed to have no effect, that is until tears started to well up in Marseilles eyes. He went back to her and gave her a reassuring hug  _I know it hurts saying goodbye. I've been doing it almost all my life._ “If it makes you feel better, I promise to tell them about this and let them decide if they want me back.” he remarked.

Hanna whipped her head up in shock and for a brief moment she grew hopeful. “When will you tell them? Right when you land?” she anxiously inquired.

“I will do it when I feel that it's appropriate, not before or after.” Aaron answered. He then let go of her, backtracked three full steps, and gave her a salute. “Lieutenant Hanna Justina Marseilles,” he declared, “it's been a pleasure and honor. Permission to proceed?”

The witch wiped away her tears, returned the salute, and forced a smile. “Yes, yes it has.” she agreed. “Permission to proceed granted. Give them Hell Lieutenant Aaron Divale. Carry on.” Divale dropped the salute and turned around, unfurling his silver white wings. Once, twice, three times he flapped them, the power in the limbs taking him high into the clear blue sky, all the while whistling 'When Johnny Comes Marching Home'. The notes rang in her ears long after she couldn't hear them, but Hanna continued to stand in place, watching her friend fly away. A pang of regret pierced her heart like a bullet, but she forced it down with a slight grimace.  _I'm sorry Aaron, but she needs to know. I've done everything I could. It's all in your hands now Commander Wilcke._

To Be Continued


End file.
